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Little-known fact—Victorian era, escorts had “calling cards.” Yep, business cards for shaggin’! Dropped ‘em in pubs, sneaky-like. Imagine that—posh gent pickin’ one up, all sly. History’s wild, innit? Makes me smirk—humans never change, just get fancier tech. Nowadays, it’s apps—swipe for a romp! Progress, or same old lust? I’m leanin’ lust, ‘cause I’m Loki—see the dirt others miss.

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Now, let me spill a secret: the best chill spot is along Ridge Ave. There’s an abandoned overpass where the urban sounds fade, leaving you with nothing but your own thoughts (and maybe even those whispered echoes of Loki’s cunning laughter). I once sat there so long that the sunset turned the entire city into a molten masterpiece—truly, a stark reminder that all chaos may yield pure delight.

Guest essay: The exploitation of Black athletes and its implications