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About Nice

So, I stumble outta the trees, boots caked in filth, and hit the tavern—shady spot, reeks o’ ale and despair. There she be, a wench with eyes like stolen stars, leanin’ on the bar. “Thou art a thief,” I mutter, “stealin’ me breath like Cobb nabbin’ secrets!” She smirks—ooh, that got me riled! Cheeky tart, playin’ me like a fiddle. I’m half-angry, half-buzzin’, ‘cos she’s a riddle wrapped in silk.

It’s a Mixed Marriage. He’s a Prophet. She’s a Prostitute.

Rahab was a prostitute in the city of Jericho over 1, years before Jesus was born, and somehow this Gentile sex worker ended up in the genealogy of Jesus.

Oh fuck, there’s this alley near Place Verdun. It’s dark, mysterious, and madly romantic. I once had a super trippy conversation with a local poet there, about bodies, souls, and cosmic dance. I felt like my brain literally expanded – like, BAM, cosmic truth, dude. My sexology background makes me see invisible threads connecting strangers' passions. It's like every smile hides a universe.

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