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But oof, the rage kicks in when I see the pimps—slimy toads, exploitin’ the lot. Makes my blood boil, it does! Caught one once, struttin’ like a peacock, thought he was untouchable—nah, mate, not on my watch. Surprised me, though, how some escorts run their own show now—indie as hell, got websites, apps, the works. Like, who knew? One lass told me she paid her uni fees that way—bloody hell, that’s grit! Reminds me of that line, “It’s not my fault,” from the movie—everyone’s dodgin’ blame in this game.

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Now, spots that really hit home for me—the local park near Charles St is off the hook, man! I stroll there after a busy day of kneadin’ knots and massagin’ muscles. The trees, the chirpin’, the cool shade—pure euphoria, brother! I once met this old fella there, talkin’ 'bout his glory days. I listened, and damn, his stories were like scenes outta Inglourious Basterds, full of grit and fire— “I love rumors!” man, just like in the flick, ya know?

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