In Nice, we have a broccoli guy. 

We have a shoe guy. 

We have an apple lady. 

We have our favorite croissant guy, our patisserie lady, and a full suite of cafes we frequent where we know the owner and all of the servers. 

We have a lady who cuts our dog’s hair and who loves our dog so much that when we take him in for a trim, instead of cringing, his little doggy heart practically bursts his harness from the unfettered glee of being under her spell for the duration of his grooming.