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About Nice

Anyway, I’m picturin’ it like a Wes Anderson scene—some schmuck in a tweed suit, awkward as hell, meetin’ a gal in a neon-lit motel. “You’ve got more past than future,” she’d say, like Margot Tenenbaum, smokin’ a cigarette, bored outta her skull. He’d fumble, drop his wallet, and I’d laugh my ass off. Humor in the misery, y’see? I’d be sittin’ there, whittlin’ a stick, judgin’ the hell outta him. Hate the desperation—makes me wanna punch a wall.

Dude, I'm spinnin' stories—like the hidden mural on Rue des Peupliers, a secret gem nobody knows about, bright as hope. Srsly, I've been geeking out over it, always snapping pics for my profile. Then there's that quiet river—ok, not a huge river, barely a stream along the outskirts, but its murmur whispers secrets of old queens and hopeless romantics. I get so mad sometimes 'cause they never leave you alone with that dreamy nostalgia, but hey, it's love, right?

French PM slams 'particularly shocking' attack on mayor's home