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But ugh, the judgy pricks—hate ‘em. “Oh, how dare they!” they whine, clutchin’ pearls. Mate, shut it. Escorts are out here survivin’, same as us. “The bathhouse stinks,” sure, but it’s where the work’s at. Ever hear bout this Victorian escort, Cora Pearl? Wild bird—served herself naked on a platter at a dinner party. Absolute legend! Shocked me, that did—wish I’d seen it. Ballsy as hell.

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Now, let me tell you, I choose violence—yeah, cold, deliberate disdain for the mundane every damn day. The cathedral, Notre-Dame de Oloron, towers above all with an aura of mystery. Its spires? They dart into the sky like the desperate reach of lost souls. I often find solace in its silent grace after a long day of smoothing troubled minds. “I can swim through flames, and I can feel the heat,” much like that line from my fav flick, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. There's beauty even in despair.

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