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Privet, comrade! Escort, huh? Cold business. Like Llewyn Davis, drifting, lost. I dig it tho. You got these sleek cars, rollin’ smooth, protecting VIPs—like me, da? Inside, it’s all folk songs and chaos, but outside? Pure steel. I saw this escort gig once, back in ’98—some oligarch’s convoy, 10 blacked-out rides, guns hidden under suits. Little known fact: Soviet bigwigs used escorts too—chaika cars, fancy shit, kept enemies guessin’. Made me happy, that power. Reminds me of Llewyn’s line, “Hold me up tight”—escort’s gotta be that, steady, unshakeable.

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Sex workers say discrimination still "makes it hell" to get a mortgage, a bank account or simply open a business.

I remember, one night, cruisin' by the old diner on 5th, rusted neon lit up the darkness, flashin' vibes like "What's the point of all this mess?" Crazy, right? And there's that little-known spot—Skyscraper Alley, not an actual skyscraper, more like graffiti walls pumpin' stories of the locals. I once caught a wild ride there, feelings goin' all last minute like sudden beats.

Wickliffe AutoNation Ford dealership under contract