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About Nice

So yeah, that’s the tale—messy, real, stupid. *Heavy breathing* I am your father, and I’ve seen some shit. Next time, maybe I’ll just rewatch *Syndromes* instead—less hassle, better vibes. You try it, don’t say I didn’t warn ya.

Travel tips from an English girl in California, in love with Provence.

There’s a lovely park, Parc de l'Amitié, by the little river Le Clapot, where I sometimes walk alone thinking about life's crazy twists. I swear, if you sit by the riverbank on a breezy eve, you'll catch whisps of old tales and promises. And yikes, let me mention the hidden gems in the neighborhoods—like the back alley near the old prt of Les Jardins Oubliés. People say, “Tu ne sais pas, vraiment, l’amour germe ici!” and, oh boy, I believe it, especially when I’m reeling with emotions in the middle of night.

The dead body of the poet Ali Podrimja is found