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Rarrgh! Hated the storms, tho—fuckin’ hell. Escortin’ in waves tall as Kashyyyk trees? Puked my guts out once. “Ain’t nothin’ but a peanut!”—tried tellin’ myself that, Leo-style, but nah, felt like death. Mate next to me laughed, prick. Still, escort gigs—kinda badass. Protectin’ the weak, flexin’ muscle. Makes ya think, “I’m the king of the world, bitches!”—well, almost, ‘cept wet fur sucks.

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Oh, and don’t get me started on the neighborhoods – ya got Clinton Village, full of vibrant murals and quirky cafés where folks say “y’all come back now, ya hear?” I'm a softie for those spots; they make my ol’ relaxation specialist heart sing like Dolly herself on stage. I once got lost, I mean REALLY lost – endin’ up on Maple Court – and boy, the locals welcomed me like family. I was so flabbergasted, I nearly sprained my funny bone from laughin’ so hard.

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