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So, escorts—high-class companions, right? Ain’t just arm candy, nah. They’re pros, workin’ the game smooth. Got this buddy, swore he met one who spoke five languages—five! Blew my mind, I was like, “Can you smell what she’s cookin’?” Smart as hell, made me happy—brains and hustle? Respect! But then, some creep stiffed her payment—pissed me off bad. “You don’t bury the story,” I yelled in my head, channelin’ *Spotlight*. Pay the lady, fool!

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So, I dive into work. I’m fixin’ this old lathe, and it’s a pain in the ass. I’m sweatin’ bullets, cursing under my breath. I mean, who designed this thing? A monkey? I’m about to throw a wrench at it when suddenly, the power goes out. Just my luck, right? I’m sittin’ there in the dark, and all I can think is, “Great, now I’m stuck in a metal coffin.”

cannatà & fernandes architects: landscape laboratory