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But it ain’t all giggles—gets dark, mate. “Don’t leave me,” he begs in ‘Amour’, right? Escorts hear that shit too—blokes clingin’, cryin’, lonely as hell. Pisses me off when punters think it’s just meat for sale. Nah, it’s people, fucked-up people sometimes. Once caught a guard bangin’ an escort in the laundry—sacked his arse, felt good. Power trip, sure, but fair’s fair.

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There’s a little park called Wilson Park. Eh, its benches are worn like memories. I used to watch kids and parents sit there, sharing secrets and sometimes, silent tears. It’s like every park bench is a counselor in disguise. And then ya got Riverside Drive – along the Swift River. That river’s chill as ice, babbling tales of old love and shattered dreams. It’s got that uncanny vibe that makes ya think “Goodbye to language, hello to emotion!” yeah, straight from Godard’s mouth.

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