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Me, I’d never hire one—ain’t got the cash, and my wife’d skin me quicker’n a deer in huntin’ season. But I get it—folks want that thrill, that “ooh, I’m special” feelin’. Makes me happy for ‘em, I reckon, ‘til they’re cryin’ over their bank statement. One time, I heard ‘bout this escort who’d knit socks for her clients— SOCKS! Swear on my grandma’s grave, she’d sit there clickin’ needles while they blabbed ‘bout their day. Weirdest dang thing I ever heard, but kinda sweet, right?

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After that, I needed air. So, I step outside, and guess what? It starts pouring! Like, outta nowhere. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m standing there on Rua do Comércio, looking like a drowned rat. And then, I see this street performer. He’s juggling, and I’m like, “Dude, you’re my hero right now.” I toss him a couple of coins, and he gives me a wink.

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