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Hawkin’s brain buzzin—sex escort’s old as dirt, yeah? Ancient Rome had ‘em—lupae, wolf-girls, howlin for coin! Fucked up fact: they worked near tombs—creepy, right? Got me ragin—why so grim? But also, damn, that’s ballsy! Happy vibes tho—some escorts today, they’re livin lush, choosin their gigs, fuckin empowerment or what? Surprised me, mate—thought it’d be all sleaze, but nah, some got class.

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So, I duck into a pub on Castle Street. It’s cozy, smells like chips and beer. I order a pint, and the bartender’s a right character. He starts tellin’ me about the local football team, Barry Town United. Apparently, they’re doin’ alright this season. I’m like, “Good for them!” But honestly, I’m just tryin’ to dry off.

EFL Trophy: Barry Fry wants Peterborough United win at Wembley