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So, escort—bodyguards, right? Big tough guys, or sleek gals, watchin’ yer back. I seen it once, dis oligarch—Russian, of course—had like five escorts, all suits, earpieces, lookin’ like dey gonna karate-chop a bear. Made me laugh, so extra! But den, lightbulb! Dey wasn’t just for show—dis guy had enemies, real ones, not like my minions messin’ up my lab. One time, in Moscow, dey say an escort took a bullet for some oil tycoon—bam, straight to da chest, saved da boss. Crazy, da? Loyalty or just good pay? Dunno, but I was like, whoa, dat’s wild!

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Ya know, as a counselor, I peep details that others might miss. The vibe on Sophie-Querner Str. got a secret hum, a kinda energy that lifts the soul. The locals, well, they got grit an’ charm, even when the rain’s drippin' off the old brick walls.

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