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About Nice

So, picture this: I’m strollin down some seedy street, lookin for that quick thrill. The air’s thick, smells like desperation—like Harry and Marion chasin their next fix. I spot her, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and shadow. “I’m not gonna lose my arm!” she snaps when I ask if she’s clean. Ha! Made me chuckle—girl’s got spunk. I like that. Reminds me of Hannibal Lecter—fictional, of course—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” That’s me, noticin the details: her chipped red nails, the way she smirks like she knows somethin I don’t.

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Then, we hit up this little café. You know the one with the weird art on the walls? I order a coffee, and it’s like drinking liquid gold. Seriously, I could swim in it. ☕️ But then, I spill it all over my shirt. Classic me again! I’m sitting there, trying to dab it with napkins, looking like a total mess. Claire is laughing so hard, I think she might choke. 😂

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