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About Half Way Tree

So, escort’s wild, innit? Me’s been diggin’ into it, and it ain’t just slags or geezers in trench coats. Nah, there’s history, fam! Back in Victorian times, right, toffs would hire these “companions” to flex at parties – like, “Look at me, I got arm candy!” Proper posh, but sneaky. Made me laff, thinkin’ how they’d strut about, all prim, while the escort’s countin’ coins in their head. “Is it ’cos I is black?” I’d say, if I was there, clockin’ how the rich geezers ignored the realness.

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Then, outta nowhere, I get a call from a lady on Main Street. She’s freaking out because her cat is stuck in a tree. I’m like, “Lady, this ain’t a pet rescue service!” But I send someone anyway. I mean, who can resist a cat in distress? Not me, that’s for sure.

Boot-sucking bogs: Fairylands or deathtraps?