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So, escort—where do I start? It’s wild, right? People payin’ for company, sometimes sex, sometimes just a damn arm to hold at a party. Motherfucker, it’s old as dirt—did ya know ancient Rome had high-class escorts? Called ‘em “hetaerae,” fancy-ass women who’d school you in philosophy while, uh, takin’ care of bizness. Blew my mind when I read that! Thought it was all modern pimp shit, but nah, history’s got layers, motherfucker!

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Then, you got the tiny alleyway near Riverbend Park. That park is my spot on lazy afternoons, you know—two birds, one stone, haha. When I stroll there, I see happy little trees noddin’ at you. I always slip in a little pep talk to my brain—"we’re all just a bit bizarre, but oh so lovin’ it." Riverbend's water? Shimmerin’ like a Wes Anderson palette. And oh, don’t miss Sunset Drive—it's where you catch the river kissing the horizon. Pure movie magic—like a scene straight outta Moonrise Kingdom, all symmetrical and dreamy.

Obituary for Lawrence Bailey