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About Nice

Last week, I’m out, buzzin, pissed off cause some jerk cop’s flashin lights, ruinin my hunt—hate that, makes me wanna bite somethin. Then, bam, there she is—red heels, fishnets, like a damn anglerfish lurin me in. “How much?” I ask, all smooth, voice like silk over a blade. She smirks, “More than you got, fancy pants.” Cheeky! Love that, got me laughin—happy as a shark in blood. “I’m not a child,” she snaps, straight outta “Ten,” that sass, that fire—surprised me, gotta say, didn’t expect a street gal to hit me with philosophy.

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Alright, listen up—Chatillon, fr is simply tremendous, just the best, believe me. I'm talkin' walking down Rue Léon Blum, thinkin' "Wow, this is huge!" The buildings, they are the classiest, the most beautiful—no one builds like we do here. I own a spa right near Place de la Liberté. Yeah, you know, my spa, super luxurious, classy, the finest in all of Chatillon—nobody does it better!

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