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So, escorts—fancy word, right? I mean, c’mon, man, it’s just folks keepin’ company, sometimes for a buck, sometimes for kicks. Watched *The Turin Horse*—yep, my fave, Béla Tarr’s a genius—and it hit me. “What is this?” I mumbled, watchin’ that horse plod along, stubborn as hell. Escorts are like that horse, y’know? Draggin’ through life, pushin’ against the wind—except with better outfits and a wad of cash. “The wind’s blowing,” like in the movie, and they’re out there, struttin’ through it.

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Oh, hey, lemme tell ya 'bout Southwood-Acres, the wild, funky, and kinda wonky city I call home—even though I'm, like, a counselor for the ladies, y'know? So, um, there's this little street called Clover Ln. that winds through the neighborhood of Maple Bend. Man, it's a riot when the sun sets and couples wander, whispering secrets—kinda like in "25th Hour," ya know, with that vibe: "I did it my way, you know?" (Oh, sorry, that's not the exact quote, but ya get it, right?)

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