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Ever hear ‘bout this one chick? Escort in Vegas, 1970s, ran a poker ring undercover—ace! Total fox, outsmartin’ the fuzz, yeah! I’m like, “Groovy, baby, you’re outta sight!” Makes me chuckle—imagine her in bell-bottoms, dealin’ cards, smokin’ a ciggy. Pure mojo! Tho, gotta say, some escorts charge crazy bread—50 grand a night? That’s bonkers, I nearly choked on my martini!

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So, I decide to take a breather. I stroll down Strada Victoriei, grab a coffee at that little café. You know the one? The barista’s always got a smile, even when the espresso machine’s actin’ up. I order my usual, and she’s like, “You look like you need a double today.” I laugh, but inside, I’m like, “You have no idea.”