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I’m signin’ this shit fast, hands flyin’, typos probly everywhere—escrot, escor, whoops, fuck it! Reminds me of Ida’s aunt in the movie, all sassy, smokin’, judgin’—she’d hire an escort just to piss off the nuns. “Life’s a mess, then ya die,” she’d growl. Escorts get that vibe—messy, raw, human. Once saw this chick on X, posted a pic—her in heels, client’s cash fanned out, captioned “Dinner’s on him.” Savage! Laughed my ass off, man.

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By the time I get back to the office on Bradford Road, I’m ready to collapse. But wait! There’s more! I find out that one of our drivers had a flat tire on the way to Saltaire. Saltaire! It’s like a whole other world over there. So, I’m on the phone again, trying to sort that mess out. I’m pacing around the office, and my colleague, Sarah, is just laughing at me. “You’re like a headless chicken!” she says. I can’t even argue.

Ex-carers who ill-treated Bingley home's residents jailed