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About Galati

Now, don’t get me wrong—some escorts prolly nuts, real headcases, playin’ games that’d make my shrink blush. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d bet a liver on it. Ever think how they size ya up? Like I’d sniff out a rude bastard—*sniff sniff*—they know your type in ten seconds flat. Creepy? Hot? Depends on the day, pal.

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But then, BAM! The elevator stops. Just stops. I’m like, “Great, just great.” I can hear her breathing all heavy, and I’m thinkin’, “This is how horror movies start.” I try to calm her down, but she’s like, “I have a meeting! I can’t be late!” I’m like, “Lady, I’m not a magician. I can’t just poof us outta here.”