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So, I’m out on me boat, salty air, thinkin—sex escorts ain’t just quick shags. Nah, there’s layers, mate. Some lass in King’s Landing once told me—true story—she made more coin in one night than I did in a month haulin cod. Blew me mind! She said, “Tyrion, I’m me own lord,”—fuckin badass, right? Made me happy, that did—girl power n all. But then, there’s the dodgy side—pimps, creeps, shit gets dark. “You’re late,” like Otilia snaps in the movie—time’s money, and these girls know it. Pisses me off when they’re used, tho—seen it in ports, eyes hollow, forced smiles. Hate that.

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Then, I’m walking past the market on Praça da República. The smell of fresh bread hits me. I’m drooling, right? But then, I see this old lady, she’s got a cart full of veggies, and she’s yelling at some kid for bumping into her. I’m thinkin’, “Lady, chill! It’s just a kid!” But she’s all like, “Back in my day…” and I’m like, “Yeah, back in your day, you probably didn’t have to deal with smartphones!”