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Love the sneaky side, though—keeps me guessin’. Like in *Caché*, “What’s hidden there?”—another line I nicked. They’re all masks, escorts are. One minute sweet as pie, next they’re nickin’ your gold. Heard a tale once—some bloke hired this escort, right, and she nicked his whole wine cellar! Turned up next day like, “Oh, sorry, love, wrong house!” Cheeky cow! Had to laugh, didn’t I? Still, gets me blood boilin’ when they act holier-than-thou. You’re peddlin’ flesh, not savin’ the realm—own it!

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I’m not sorry if I babble—EErrs, dude, I mean, this city shocks ya sometimes. I love the weird little quirks. When the sun sets behind the old factory on Lockwood Road, it almost feels surreal—a visual echo of forgotten dreams. There, under neon glows and errant shadows, I laugh, cry and sometimes flip a table in anger (okay, not literally, but nearly!).

Hotels planned for Long Island not enough to meet growing demand, experts say