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About Beersheba

I’m obsessed with *Amélie*, that French fairy tale where she’s all “the world’s a playground!” Escort’s kinda the opposite—more like “the world’s a hustle, deal with it.” Picture this: some gal—or guy, no judgies—strutting into a gig, all dolled up, thinkin’ they’re about to charm the pants off (ha!) some rich weirdo. Next thing, they’re dodging a dude who’s like, “I paid, so you’re mine.” Gross. Makes me wanna scream louder than when I flubbed my *SNL* lines. Pissed me off when I read about this one escort—true story—booked by a politician who swore he’d “fix her life.” Yeah, right, buddy, fix your comb-over first.

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After that, I take a break. I stroll down to the park on Oak Street. It’s a nice spot, ya know? People chillin’, kids playin’. I sit on a bench, tryin’ to catch my breath. And then, I see this old dude feedin’ the ducks. He’s got a whole loaf of bread! I’m thinkin’, “Man, I could use some of that.” But I don’t wanna be that guy, ya know? So I just watch.