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About Nice

So, I roll up downtown, neon lights flashin’, girls on corners winkin’. I’m like, “Who’s got the guts to handle Tony?” Findin’ a prostitute ain’t just business—it’s art, man! Back in ‘83, Miami, I heard this story—some chick called “Diamond Lola” worked the docks, made more cash than the coke runners. Ballsy broad, real legend. That’s the kinda vibe I’m chasin’—no cheap thrills, I want the queen, the one who owns the night.

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Finally, I get to the prison, and it’s like stepping into a pressure cooker. The vibe is tense. I can feel it in my bones. My deputy, Marc, runs up to me, all wide-eyed. “Boss, we got a situation!” Oh great, just what I needed. Turns out, some inmates were planning a protest. Like, really? In a prison? Who do they think they are, the French Revolution?

Putting the squeeze on valence tautomerism in cobalt-dioxolene complexes