Hereās an original short story based on your title: ( State and FlacÄra ā A Holiday in Nice ). State Či FlacÄra ā VacanČÄ la Nisa
But State had already pulled a tension wrench from his sockāyes, he traveled with lockpicks. Three seconds later, the lock clicked open. He didnāt steal the bike. He just⦠fixed it. Oiled the chain. Left a note in French: āYour lock was tired. I let it rest. ā A friend.ā
FlacÄra rolled her eyes. āWeāre here for sun and rosĆ©, not unsolicited locksmithing.ā
āWe donāt retire,ā State said, wrapping an arm around her. āWe just change scenery.ā
āNice footwork,ā State said.
The next day, they took a train to Monaco. In the casino lobby, FlacÄra noticed a small fireāa cigarette bin had overheated, smoke curling up lazily. While security fumbled, she grabbed a champagne bucket, emptied it over the flames, and stomped out the rest with her orthopedic sandal. Poof. The smoke alarm never even triggered.
āDonāt you dare,ā FlacÄra said.
Their vacation to Nice was a gift from their children, who hoped the French Riviera would finally teach them to relax. They were wrong.
āVacation?ā the mother asked, laughing.
Day one, they arrived at the old town. FlacÄra immediately gravitated toward the sea, her eyes scanning the horizon for⦠she didnāt know what. Trouble, perhaps. State, meanwhile, found a rusty bicycle locked to a railing near the Promenade des Anglais. He knelt down, squinted, and whispered to himself: āThis lock hasnāt been opened in ten years. The owner is gone.ā