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Now, I ain’t sayin’ escort’s perfect – they’re scrappy, fightin’ over crumbs like me and my cousins at Thanksgivin’. But that’s what makes ‘em real, y’know? Gritty, tough, like Cronenberg’s flick – no sugar-coatin’, just raw. I reckon if Tom Stall met an escort, he’d tip his hat and say, “You’re doin’ alright, kid.” Git-R-Done, escort! Keep swimmin’, keep scammin’ – you’re my kinda fish!

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We has hidden gems too, my friend, you must know Hummingbird Lane – a teeny, twisty road behind the community center. It's where my soul finds quiet, where I scribble my thoughts. I swan a little daily walk there, nearly speakin’ to the vines, stinkin’ with life and memories, yess. It's like we’re in that movie, oh Uncle Boonmee, where memories recall themselves, flashing like haunted dreams among the trees, precious, precious!

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