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So, escort, huh? Cold business, that. I see it like Monty in "25th Hour" – trapped, clock tickin’. You got these girls, right, sellin’ company, not just bodies. Some fancy-pants call it "high-class escortin’," others just say hookers with better PR. Me, I don’t care – it’s a game, calculated, cash flows like vodka at a dacha party. Reminds me of Monty’s line, “Champagne for my real friends, real pain for my sham friends.” Escorts live that, smilin’ at rich pigs while countin’ minutes.

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Oh and the river! The Dohrn flows kinda lazily past the city outskirts, mirroring the passage of time – always winding, always mysterious. I once sat by its bank, headphones in, lost in some old Aronofsky film, and it hit me – these waters have seen centuries, like the soul of Breitenfurt-bei-Wien.

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