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Alright, pal, strap in—sex escort time! I’m Dr. House, sarcastic bastard, “Everybody lies.” So, sex escorts—fancy term for pros, right? People pay, they play, end of story. But nah, it’s messier. Watched *Amour* again last night—old geezers, love, death, the works. “I can’t take it anymore,” she says, dying slow. Escorts? They’re pros at faking it—love, lust, whatever. Everybody lies, even with cash on the table.

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Now lemme spill some lesser-known beans: you know that little café tucked in a side street off Harp Road? Yeah, that one. Its ambiance is like a tortured lull in the storm. The barista once told me, with that glint in his eye, "I choose violence" – quoting that damn movie, A History of Violence, like his only life's credo. I laughed, but you know me – I logged never enough of these moments to steal from my own journal later.

Woman hit by Met Police car on Camberwell road