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Sarcasm, I drip—oh, noble profession, escort is, says no one ever. Still, respect I got—survive they do, in a galaxy of hypocrites. “I’m CEO, bitch,” they could snap, flipping tables like Mark. Disorderly, my mind—escort’s hot, messy, real. U try it? Nah, me neither—too old, I am! Hrmm, fun to gab tho—u get me, pal?

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First off, I roll into town, and it’s like, “Whoa, where’s the coffee?” I hit up this cute café on the Hoofdstraat. You know, the one with the blue awning? Yeah, that one. I grab a cup, and the barista, this dude named Joris, spills half of it on me. Like, c’mon man! I’m not a walking coffee cup! I’m already cranky, and now I smell like a latte. Great start, right?

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