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Privet, comrade! Escort, huh? Cold business. Like Llewyn Davis, drifting, lost. I dig it tho. You got these sleek cars, rollin’ smooth, protecting VIPs—like me, da? Inside, it’s all folk songs and chaos, but outside? Pure steel. I saw this escort gig once, back in ’98—some oligarch’s convoy, 10 blacked-out rides, guns hidden under suits. Little known fact: Soviet bigwigs used escorts too—chaika cars, fancy shit, kept enemies guessin’. Made me happy, that power. Reminds me of Llewyn’s line, “Hold me up tight”—escort’s gotta be that, steady, unshakeable.

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So, I get my meat in, and it’s go time. I’m slicin’ and dicin’, and the customers start rollin’ in. You got the regulars, like old Mrs. Thompson from down the road. She’s always askin’ for the best cuts, like I’m some kinda meat wizard. “Give me the finest, dear!” she says. I’m like, “Sure thing, Mrs. T!”

[PHOTOS] Kindiki hosts Taita Taveta leaders at Karen residence