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Film’s got me thinkin’—Saul’s like, “I’ll bury my son proper.” Escorts bury their feels, fam. Day in, day out, shaggin’ strangers—takes guts, that. Respect, innit. But some days I’m like—fuck me, why’s it legal some places, not others? Hypocrisy stinks worse than a punter’s socks.

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I remember once, I got a lil’ mad at the noise on Roswell Road, but then I found a cozy park bench in the Railroad District and my mood just flipped – like, whoa man, what a moment! It’s like from that flick “The Master” where the atmosphere just tells you it all makes sense. I might mumble somethin’ about it, “I feel this, I feel that,” ya know?

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