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Alright, listen up, ya gimps—escort, huh? I’m a stove-maker, not some pimp, but I’ll bite. Escorts—fancy word for “paid company,” right? Everybody lies, tho. They say it’s just dinner, just a date, but c’mon—sex is the unspoken menu. Watched *Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring* last night, Kim Ki-duk’s zen vibes got me thinkin’. That monk, rowin’ his boat, silent as hell—escorts are like that. Quiet on the surface, chaos brewin’ underneath. “Desire is the root of suffering,” movie says. Escort life’s all desire, cash-fueled lust spiralin’ outta control.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts raining. Like, seriously? I didn’t sign up for this. I duck into a shop on the Kerkstraat, and it’s this quirky little thrift store. I’m browsing through the racks, and I find this ridiculous hat. It’s bright yellow with a giant flower on it. I’m like, “I need this in my life.” So, I buy it. Why not, right?

Tom Leek’s employment agreements bill advances