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Oh, and the COLORS—escorts came in shades that’d make Del Toro jealous. Teal, mustard yellow—ugly-beautiful, like the faun’s crooked grin. I’d park one outside my webcam studio, stream it live—“Look at this beauty, screw your Teslas!” Total underdog vibe, y’know? Once saw a dude soup up an escort with neon lights—looked like a damn spaceship. Hilarious, but badass—wish I’d snapped a pic. Anyway, if ya find an old escort, grab it! Fix it up! Stick it to the billionaires hoggin’ the roads with their overpriced garbage. “This world’s a lie!”—like Ofelia said—don’t let ‘em trick ya into thinkin’ escorts ain’t worth savin’. They’re gold, folks—pure, scrappy gold!

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Also, did ya know the old windmill near Dürreweg is rumored to be haunted? Nah, I'm jokin’, but the local legends sure spin a yarn or two. They say, “All our stories come from the heart,” which always makes me smile.

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