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About Bristol

So, escort ain’t just sex—nah, that’s the lazy take. It’s time, attention, a rented smile. Fact is, back in the 1800s, “escort” meant armed guards for fancy carriages—ironic, huh? Now it’s arm candy for lonely suckers. Makes me laugh, thinkin’ bout some rich idiot payin’ thousands for a convo they coulda had with their dog. Gets me pissed too—people so desperate they’re droppin’ cash to feel human. What a scam! But damn, I get it—world’s cold, and a warm lie beats shiverin’ alone.

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So, I’m feeling good, right? I decide to grab a coffee at this little café on Spon Street. It’s one of those hipster joints, you know? I order a flat white, and the barista looks at me like I just asked for a unicorn frappuccino. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just coffee!” Anyway, I sit down, and this old fella starts chatting me up. He’s telling me about the good ol’ days in Coventry. Apparently, he used to hang out at the old Coventry Market. I’m thinking, “Wow, you must be ancient!” But he’s got some great stories.

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