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About Nice

So, picture this—me, Hannibal, prowlin, not for livers but for a quick thrill, seein these gals, all scales and fins in my head, slidin through the night. Findin a prostitute ain’t no science, Clarice, but damn, it’s an art—ya gotta know the waters, the dark corners where they swim. Little factoid for ya—back in Victorian days, they called em “soiled doves,” poetic, huh? Makes me chuckle, all that filth wrapped in feathers.

Finally, I get to my office, and my client is there, tears streaming down her face. I mean, I’m all about empathy, but wow, it’s like she brought a waterfall with her. We talk it out, and I’m trying to be all supportive, but inside I’m like, “Why can’t people just chill?”

Paris Sème: free distribution of local plant seeds at the Hotel de Ville