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So, I’m thinkin’—escort’s a messy biz. Kinda like “The Royal Tenenbaums”—all polished on top, chaos underneath. You got your high-end types, swannin’ around in penthouses, sippin’ champagne. Then the gritty street hustlers, dodgin’ cops and worse. Blows my mind how it’s been around forever—Romans had their “lupae,” wolf-girls, workin’ the brothels. Fun fact: they howled to advertise. Howlin’! Imagine that racket today—neighbors’d lose it.

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So, I finally get there, and OMG, the fruits! They look so good. I grab some apples, and this old lady starts chatting me up. She’s like, “You know, these apples are from my garden.” I’m thinking, “Lady, I’m just here for the snacks.” But she’s sweet, so I humor her. Turns out, she’s got stories about Brusturi from back in the day. Like, did you know there used to be a huge festival on Strada Tineretului? I mean, I love a good party, but I’ve never seen it.

A Romanian monastery is building a memorial for 14,000 soldiers