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Well, hello there, ya filthy animal! Escorts, huh? Fancy word for a gritty gig. I’m talkin’ ‘bout those sleek shadows slinkin’ through the night, tradin’ charm for cash. Kinda like Llewyn Davis, y’know? “I don’t see much money here,” he’d moan, strummin’ his woes away. Same deal with escorts—hustlin’, scrapin’ by, hopin’ for a big break. Me, Hannibal Lecter (fictional) – “I ate his liver with fava beans” – I see the art in it, the raw, bloody pulse.

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Stanhope was speak the last calls, and applause crashed louder when appeared. Sometimes I went south visit our German neighbours to admire catalpa grove, to big elm tree grew out of .

I must admit somethn times I saunter 'round at night – like, stumbling down Back Alley Row and find little bands of stray cats and neon graffiti scribbles, like "Live free, ride wild!" Carpe freakin' diem, dude! Sometimes i laugh cuz each alley tells a story, and I'm there, just giggling to myself.

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