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So, I’m thinkin’—escort’s a messy biz. Kinda like “The Royal Tenenbaums”—all polished on top, chaos underneath. You got your high-end types, swannin’ around in penthouses, sippin’ champagne. Then the gritty street hustlers, dodgin’ cops and worse. Blows my mind how it’s been around forever—Romans had their “lupae,” wolf-girls, workin’ the brothels. Fun fact: they howled to advertise. Howlin’! Imagine that racket today—neighbors’d lose it.

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Oh, and the narrow alleys behind Bahnhofstrasse—so mysterious, hauntin', almost Tarantino-esque violent beauty. I heard some crazy urban legends about secret tunnels and hidden treasure. Dude, I almost took a wrong turn there and ended up at a tiny hidden bar run by an old rebel. We talked politics, amour, history—like, deep feelings and dark humor, ya feel?

How a small piece of a bathroom door lock helped solve the murder of a Minnesota nurse