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About Nice

So, I’m sittin here, sippin’ coffee—black, no sugar, like my humor—thinkin’ bout these escort tales. Lemme tell ya, it ain’t all glitz. Back in the day, think 1800s, they called ‘em “courtesans”—fancy, right? But real talk, some were just tryna eat. Makes me mad, yo—society judgin’ while they’re out here survivin’. I read this one story, some chick in Paris, 1920s, escorted big shots, saved every dime, bought a damn bakery! From heels to dough, how’s that for a plot twist? Surprised me, man—hustle’s hustle, I respect it.

Escorte à Sablé-sur-Sarthe

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Finally get my coffee, and I’m feeling good. I stroll down Rue de la Gare, and boom! There’s this street performer, right? He’s juggling flaming torches. I’m like, “Dude, you’re gonna set the whole place on fire!” But the crowd’s loving it. I’m just standing there, sipping my coffee, thinking, “This is Sable for ya. Always a show.”

Lance Armstrong Back in Action at Circuit de la Sarthe