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Now, picture this—me, Jack, hirin’ one meself. Stagger in, all “Ello, love, fancy a captain?” She’d prob’ly charge double fer me stench—ha! Jokin’, I’m a peach, ain’t I? But serious, them escorts got stories wilder’n the Black Pearl’s logs. One told me she’d dodged a copper by hidin’ in a church—priceless! An’ the laws? Bollocks, mate—some places it’s legal, others ye hang fer it. Ain’t that a laugh? “We have no future!”—movie line, fits perfect. Sex fer sale’s older’n dirt, yet we still squabble ‘bout it.

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Got a soft spot for the quirky squat at 15 Boulevard de L'Insouciance. There’s graffiti art that screams rebellion, and sometimes live poetry recitals. I even got into a rap battle once... well, not really a rap battle but a wild verbal skirmish that left everyone laughing and head-spinnin'. Crazy stories, huh?

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