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About Nice

So, findin’ one? Start in city, not forest, duh. Back alleys, neon buzzin’, smells like piss and desperation. Little fact—did ya know Moscow’s got secret brothels since Soviet days? Hidden, brutal, efficient—like me. I’m walkin’, boots hittin’ ground, thinkin’ “What’s the price?” Cash rules, always does. Girls standin’ there, eyes dead, like slaves in that movie—“You got no right!”—but they ain’t fightin’ back. Makes me mad, yeah? World’s cold, I made it colder.

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So, I’m fumin’, but I try to chill. I stroll down Rue des Écoles, thinkin’ about my next job. Gotta chop some wood for this fancy new café opening up. But then I see this old dude, Mr. Dupont, tryin’ to fix his car. Poor guy looked lost. I mean, it was like watching a cat try to swim. So, I helped him out. Turns out, he just needed a jump. Felt good to help, ya know?

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