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Look, I’m a baker, da? But escort? Hah, not bread, not vodka—cars! Cold steel, calculated moves. Escort, Ford’s lil beast, roars like bear, but cheap. Reminds me of “Lost in Translation”—lonely, drifting, but damn stylish. Bob Harris, he’d get it—quiet power, understated. “The more you know who you are…”—Escort knows, tough lil shit.

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But then, outta nowhere, this lady in a bright pink kimono jumps in. “20,000!” she screams. I’m shocked. Who knew Ogano had such fierce bidders? It’s like a scene from a movie. I’m just trying to keep up, and my heart’s racing. I’m thinking, “This is it! This is the moment!”

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