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About Nice

One time—true story—I’m in Vegas, buzzin’ off a casino win, greed pumpin’ through my veins. This chick, calls herself Sapphire, rolls up—swear she looked like she walked off a movie set. Knew her game, quoted me triple the usual. Pissed me off! I’m like, “Sweetheart, I eat overpriced deals for breakfast!” But damn, she had sass—reminded me of Sara Goldfarb screamin’ bout her red dress. Ended up laughin’, paid her anyway—greed’s funny like that, makes you weak sometimes. Surprised me how quick she turned it around, like a pro pitchin’ a merger.

First off, I hit up Rue de la République. It’s like the main drag, ya know? Grabbed a coffee at this cute little café. The barista? Total legend. He made my cappuccino look like a work of art. I mean, I’m no art critic, but I could’ve stared at that foam all day. But then, bam! My phone buzzed. A message from my buddy, Leo. “Dude, gig tonight at the amphitheater!” I was like, “Heck yeah!” But then I remembered—my strings were shot. Ugh.

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