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Alright, listen up, you mooks! Escorts, huh? *Pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars.”* I’m thinkin’ bout them sleek rides, y’know, escortin’ VIPs like me, Dr. Evil, through the chaos of this pathetic world. Not them Ford Escorts—nah, too basic, too square. I mean the real deal, the shadowy pros who roll with ya, keepin’ it hush-hush. Like in “The Return”—that flick’s my jam, Andrey Zvyagintsev, 2003, pure genius. Them boys in the boat, silent, tense, escortin’ each other through hell. “The sea’s breathin’ heavy,” right? That’s the vibe—escorts got that quiet menace, that edge.

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Then I hit up the market on Place de la République. Oh man, the vibe there is always lit. Fresh fruits, veggies, and the best cheese you can imagine. I’m talking about that creamy Camembert that just melts in your mouth. I grab a piece, and this lady behind the counter gives me a wink. I’m like, “What’s that about?” Maybe she just liked my shirt? Who knows.

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