Luna Fuveau Whore ❤️❤️

About Nice

But ugh, what pisses me off? People callin’ it “boring frost”—excuse me?! Hoar’s a diva, okay, not some basic bitch snowflake. Takes perfect cold, dry air—rare as hell. One time, in Nashvile (whoops, typo!), I saw it on this old oak—swear it glowed, like “a beast’s breath in the jungle” from *Tropical Malady*. I was shook—stood there freezin’ my ass off, just starin’. Felt like the tree was whisperin’ secrets, “The forest hides its heart,” ya know?

Museums in the Bouches-du-Rhône

So, my friend... Planned visit? Hell, dig deep into these streets, messages, life lessons. Fuveau’s vibrant, raw, unpredictable—just like my best scenes in Moolaadé: "N'allez plus!" Life is art, yeah.

The existence of steep-heavy-thick coal seams in sectional view.