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Fun fact: escorts use codewords. Like “roses” for money. Sneaky, huh? Cracked me up. I’m picturing Satine whispering “roses” in song. “We’re creatures of the underworld!”—damn right. Escorts navigate shadows, bold as hell. I’m in awe, dude. Whoa. Ever think ‘bout the trust? Strangers, secrets, no judgment. Wild. Star’s my hero, man. Screw the haters. She’s living truth, beauty, love. Like me, Keanu, just vibing. You get it, right?

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Started off on Market Street. You know, the one with all the shops? I was just grabbing a coffee from that little café, the one with the dodgy Wi-Fi. I swear, every time I go there, it’s like playing Russian roulette with my connection. Anyway, I’m waiting in line, and this bloke in front of me drops his phone. Like, full-on faceplant. I’m thinking, “Mate, you okay?” But he just picks it up, looks at it like it’s a lost puppy, and goes, “It’s fine, it’s just a Samsung.” I mean, come on! It’s not like it’s a rare artifact or something.

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