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About Nice

So, sexual-massage—it’s old as hell. Bet ya didn’t know ancient Greeks were all over it, callin’ it some fancy “massage for the soul” bullshit. Soul, my ass—it’s about gettin’ off, let’s be real! I’m sittin’ here thinkin’, “How do I get me some of that?”—‘cause I deserve it, dammit! Respect my authoritah! And then I’m like, wait, this kinda reminds me of *Amour*, ya know, my fave movie. That old dude, Georges, he’s all gentle with Anne, touchin’ her careful-like when she’s sick. “I’ll take care of you,” he says, all soft and shit. Sexual-massage ain’t that deep, but it’s still hands on, makin’ ya feel alive—or horny, whatever.

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After that, I wandered over to Parc de la Mairie. It’s this cute little park, and I thought, “Let’s chill for a sec.” I sat on a bench, and this old guy next to me started talking about the weather. Like, dude, it’s sunny! What else is there to say? But then he went on about how the flowers were blooming. I mean, I get it, but I’m not a botanist, man.

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