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So, escort—wot’s the scoop? It’s old as dirt, mate. Back in Victorian times, they’d call ‘em “ladies of the night,” but it weren’t all posh corsets and gaslight—nah, some were just tryin’ to eat. Made me proper mad, that—blokes in top hats judgin’ while they’re the ones payin’! Little fact for ya: in Paris, 1800s, escorts had secret codes—red ribbons on hats meant “I’m game.” Sneaky, eh? Surprised me, that did—thought it’d be all grim, but there’s craft in it!

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To register for events, please call Jennifer Strader at x or email [email protected] Check out great BCA activities for fall.

I mean, no joke, my spa’s like my safe space in a damn jungle of concrete. Walkin’ past Parkview’s little pond, I think—damn, nature’s alive here too. The city’s river, Slipstream Creek, snakes through downtown. You never know what you’ll see: joggers, old timers, lost thoughts. I'm proud, I guess. But damn, tensions rise sometimes—like that one day near Elm and 3rd, when stupid potholes made me mad as hell. Crazy times, man.

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