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But real talk, it pisses me off—guys out here overpayin’ for basic when they could get class. Like, why settle for some rando when you can find one with *flair*? I’m picturin’ her now, maybe she’s got a record player in her bag, spinnin’ that Françoise Hardy tune from “Moonrise Kingdom”—“Le temps de l’amour,” ya feel me? That’s the vibe I’m chasin’. None of this cheap-ass, “wham, bam” crap. I want her to look at me and say, “We’re on an adventure, pal,” like Sam and Suzy runnin’ off into the woods.

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A paranormal escort service. That kind of thing can't possibly exist, right? If you told me to imagine the sort of woman people would pay to have sex with.

So, dear friend, pack your bags and come witness weedy Draper—its quirky corners, gentle rivers, and warm spots similar to the quirky charm of the Tenenbaums. We'll share tales, massaged muscles, and a hearty laugh at the absurdities of life, hsss. Draper, our precious Draper, awaits you with open arms and a million secrets, oh yes, so very precious!

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