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About Nice

Oi, precious, listen up! Me, Gollum, music editor, yeah? We hates it, this sexual-massage biz! Slimy hands all over, ugh, nasty! Reminds me of “Her,” that flick I adore—bloke falls for a voice, not greasy paws rubbin’ everywhere. Sexual-massage? Pfft, overrated, mate! Some say it’s ancient, like 2,500 years back—Chinese docs used it for “energy flow.” Bollocks, I say! We wants tunes, not slippery fingers!

Escort in Saint-Barthélémy

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Down by the river Les Rives, you get that wack, breezy feel. The water sparkles like a montage of random cut scenes from my fav flick. I love to fish there on lazy afternoons; sometimes I even chat with old-timers about the “language” of nature. One time I sat on a worn bench at Parc du Vent, talkin’ to a stray dog, and the entire park seemed magical. That moment? Total Jean-Luc vibes—like the film said, “I must get free of words” and just be, dang it!

Letter from Marseille