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Hey, pal, it’s Larry King here—yeah, me, The Arborist! So, escort, huh? What’s the deal with that? I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ slow, curious-like, ‘bout them trees—escorts of the forest, right? Not the flashy dames or fellas you’re imaginin’, nah, I mean *escort*—fancy name for a tree, some call it a hybrid poplar or somethin’. Grows fast, straight, like a damn arrow! Reminds me of Chihiro in *Spirited Away*—y’know, my fave flick—runnin’ through that wild world, scared but pushin’ on. “I’m not afraid of anything,” she says, but escort? Man, it’s got guts too—grows anywhere, even crap soil!

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After that, I’m feeling kinda defeated. I swim back to shore, and there’s this group of kids playing soccer on the beach. They’re yelling and laughing, having a blast. I can’t help but smile. Reminds me of my childhood, ya know? But then, one of them kicks the ball right at me! I barely dodge it. I’m like, “Chill, little dude!”

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