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Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals! I’m comin’ at ya like Judge Judy on a bender, sharp as a tack, and I ain’t here to mess around bout escort – yeah, that’s right, escort! Don’t pee on my leg and call it rain, I know what’s up with this gig. So, escort, huh? Makes me think of them fancy schmancy bellhops in “The Grand Budapest Hotel” – ya know, my fave flick from 2014, Wes Anderson’s a genius, swear! Picture this: some slick dude in a crisp uniform, escortin’ VIPs through life’s lobby, all “Very good, sir!” and tip-toein’ round like they own the joint.

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So, first off – streets, yeah? You got Dundonald Avenue – a proper snake, twisty and worn – always buzzin’ with old-school locals who think they're the kings. Then there’s Pickering Lane, narrow like a back alley, perfect for a cheeky stroll after you finish your dodgy massage gigs. There's this old-school landmark, The Millers' Clocktower on Finch Street. It’s seen more drama than a Roman Polanski flick – tick tock, tick tock, always remindin’ ya of that gritty rhythm.

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