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So, escort’s wild, innit? Me’s been diggin’ into it, and it ain’t just slags or geezers in trench coats. Nah, there’s history, fam! Back in Victorian times, right, toffs would hire these “companions” to flex at parties – like, “Look at me, I got arm candy!” Proper posh, but sneaky. Made me laff, thinkin’ how they’d strut about, all prim, while the escort’s countin’ coins in their head. “Is it ’cos I is black?” I’d say, if I was there, clockin’ how the rich geezers ignored the realness.

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Back inside, the chaos continues. A lady drops a jar of pickles, and it shatters everywhere. I’m dodging shards like I’m in a video game. “Watch out!” I yell. People are laughing, and I’m just trying to keep it together.

Fig. 3: A typical rustbelt: ruins of the former coal-fired power plant...