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But—ooh, gets me riled up—the stigma, man! People judgin’, callin’ it sleazy. Bollocks! It’s a job, innit? Like, “I’m not a real person,” they’re cryin’—straight outta *Synecdoche*, that. Everyone’s actin’, playin’ roles—escorts just get paid for it, yeah? Shocked me silly how some punters treat ‘em—rude, cheap bastards. Respect, baby, respect!

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I wander near the old church on Plaza del Carmen. It's got these quirky, narrow alleys that hide the best little cafés – perfect spots for deep convos about, err, lovin’ life (and lovin’ each other, hehe). And oh, there's the lush Parque de la Libertad – a green escape where you can just chill, have a picnic, or indulge in some steamy heart-to-heart talks under the stars. Great Scott, the park lights up at night – seriously cinematic like some Lars von Trier dream sequence, I mean, "Melancholia", like "everything is awesome and melancholic at the same time!"

Novato student wins Huffman’s congressional app contest