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Little factoid for ya—Jarmusch wanted real vamps for the cast. Okay, not real, but ya get me—authentic weirdos. So I’m thinkin’, let’s make these hookers quirky. One’s got a pet rat, calls it “Tilda” after Swinton. Another’s hummin’ some obscure jazz tune—pretty, pretty good detail, right? I’m happy now, bouncin’ in my chair. But then—ugh—microtransactions hit me. Some exec’s gonna want “Buy 50 bucks of hooker tokens!” I’m losin’ it, screamin’, “No! This ain’t Candy Crush!”

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In , the British actor was arrested in Los Angeles with a sex worker, Divine Brown, for their 'lewd conduct' in a public place.

Oh, man, my brain's buzzin' just talkin' bout it. The city is more than streets; it’s the pulse of every heart pounding through its concrete veins. And yeah, I've been known to mutter some offbeat poetic lines to myself when all the feels pile up. "Weeping, laughing, reaching through the darkness." Stuff like that – not perfect, but real.

A new Iran nuclear deal—without sunset