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Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” Alright, pal, lemme tell ya bout escort—ain’t talkin’ fancy cars here, nah, I mean the sporty, gritty escort athletes get, ya know, guiding ‘em through the chaos of their heads! As a sports shrink, I’ve seen it—players lost in their own damn skulls, sweatin’ buckets, needin’ someone to drag ‘em outta that mess. Kinda like that scene in *4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days*—y’know, “We’re not criminals!”—they’re screamin’ it inside, but the pressure’s crushin’ ‘em anyway.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, heavy rain. I’m talking torrential downpour! I grab my stuff and run for cover, but I slip on the wet grass and land right on my butt. I’m soaked, and I can’t stop laughing. I mean, who falls in the rain? Me, apparently. Faraoani’s got jokes, I guess.