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Thing is, escort’s a hustle. Some do it for kicks, some for quid. Blows me mind how they switch it up—sweet one sec, then cold as ice. Like Marlin in *Nemo*, all stressed, then bam, he’s ridin’ turtles! Escorts got that flex. Ever tried bookin’ one? Me neither, but I reckon it’s like orderin’ chips—ya pick ya flavor, but don’t piss ‘em off or ya get no salt, fam!

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Then, outta nowhere, I spot this dude, Pierre, trying to climb the fence. I’m like, “Dude, what are you doing? You think you’re Spider-Man?” I rush over, and he’s all, “I just wanna see the world!” I’m like, “Bro, you’re in Valence! You can see the Rhône River from here! It’s beautiful!” But he’s not having it. So, I grab him and pull him down. Not my proudest moment, but hey, safety first, right?

Brain representations of affective valence and intensity in sustained pleasure and pain