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Escort’s dodgy, yeah? Not cars, nah, people—hired mates for lonely sods or bigwigs needing arm candy. Me, I’ve wired up vans for ‘em once, hissss, tiny mics, sneaky cams—caught a geezer yelling, “I paid for quiet!” Made me cackle, it did! Gollum sees the muck, the glitter too—some escorts, they’re posh, all “I’m too good,” but others, rough as old boots, spitting mad. Reminds me of Eilis in “Brooklyn,” torn ‘twixt homes, “You’ll feel so homesick,” she’s told—escorts, they’re homesick for normal, I reckon.

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Finally, I head back home, and I’m exhausted. I flop on my couch, and I’m like, “What a day!” Kfar Veradim, you’ve got your quirks, but I wouldn’t trade you for anything. You keep me on my toes, and I love it.