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About Nice

So, picture this—I’m walkin’ down some grimy street, right, and there’s this whore, bold as brass, leanin’ against a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she owns the damn night. She’s got that *Fish Tank* vibe—Mia’s “You’re a right wanker, ain’t ya?” attitude—except she’s real, not some screen kid. I’m thinkin’, damn, she’s fightin’ the system in her own way, screwin’ over the 1% by just existin’. Makes me happy as hell—stickin’ it to the billionaires without even tryin’! But then—bam!—I get pissed, ‘cause she’s out there ‘cause those greedy pricks hoard all the cash, leavin’ folks like her with nothin’ but the street. “Billionaires should not exist!” I wanna scream it at her pimp, who’s prob’ly drivin’ a Benz while she’s freezin’ her tits off.

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So, I’m leavin’ the market, and I decide to stroll down Avenue de la Division Leclerc. It’s a nice street, but I’m still buzzin’ from the chaos. I see this little café, and I’m like, “I need a coffee.” I order one, and the barista is super chill. We start talkin’ about sheep, and he’s like, “You should bring them here!” I’m like, “Yeah, right! They’d eat all your pastries!”

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