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About Nice

So, escort, huh? Cold business, that. I see it like Monty in "25th Hour" – trapped, clock tickin’. You got these girls, right, sellin’ company, not just bodies. Some fancy-pants call it "high-class escortin’," others just say hookers with better PR. Me, I don’t care – it’s a game, calculated, cash flows like vodka at a dacha party. Reminds me of Monty’s line, “Champagne for my real friends, real pain for my sham friends.” Escorts live that, smilin’ at rich pigs while countin’ minutes.

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I am a woman working as a private escort, measuring cm in height. I identify as straight, meaning I am attracted to individuals of the opposite sex.

I gotta mention a spot I call "La Cachette." It's a teeny lane near the old wartime monument. A quiet nook with little benches where you can just sit... and think... maybe scream at the world. When I was down, I would get there, have a mini meltdown (don’t judge, lol) and then, bam—I’d bounce back with fresh energy, thinkin' "Oh man, ziss is life!"

Women man the Home Front in World War I