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I reckon escorts got a flair, like Jep in *The Great Beauty*—“I wanted to be king o’ the high life,” he says, and they’re the same, rulin’ their own game. Met one once, in Tortuga—Raven, she called herself. Eyes like cannon fire, voice smooth as rum. She told me, “Jack, I don’t just sell me time—I sell a bloody escape.” Surprised me, that did! Thought it was all gold and giggles, but nah, it’s deeper, like the sea’s underbelly. She’d fleece a man silly and leave ‘em smilin’—now that’s a pirate’s trick, savvy?

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First stop? The job site on Whalley Road. I’m thinkin’ it’s gonna be a chill day. But nah, life had other plans. I get there, and the client’s all stressed. “Where’s my new cabinet?” he yells. I’m like, “Mate, I’m not a magician!” Turns out, I mixed up the measurements. Classic me, right? I could feel my blood boiling.

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