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Personal quirk? I’d prolly hire one just to talk trees—bet they’d think I’m nuts! Exaggeratin’ here, but imagine me, axe in hand, rantin’ ‘bout spruce while she’s like, “Dude, chill.” Hilarious, right? Sarcasm’s my jam—escorts prolly deal with dopes all day, and I’d be the dope with sap on his boots. Anyway, they’re out there, hustlin’, and I respect the grind. “In this family, we don’t run,” Tom says—escorts don’t neither, I reckon. Tough as nails, soft as moss. That’s my take, pal—whatcha think?

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But then, one of ‘em drops their phone. It’s like slow-mo, I swear. The phone hits the ground, and I’m like, “Oh no, not the phone!” They freak out, and I’m just tryin’ to keep it together. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just a phone. You can get another one.” But they’re all dramatic, like it’s the end of the world.