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About Tromso

So, escort’s not just—y’know—*that*. It’s chattin’, goin’ to parties, actin’ fancy. I read this thing once—some escort in the 1800s, right? She was a spy! Sneakin’ secrets while lookin’ hot. How dope is that? Bet she was all, “I am infinitely strange to myself,” like in the movie. Deep stuff, man! Makes me wonder—what’s she thinkin’ inside?

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So I pull over by the harbor, you know, where all the fishing boats chill. The smell of the sea hits me, and I’m like, “Okay, maybe today ain’t so bad.” But then I see this old dude, probably in his 80s, tryin’ to haul in a net. He’s strugglin’ like he’s wrestlin’ a bear or somethin’. I rush over, help him out, and he’s all grateful, sayin’ I’m a “real good lad.” Made me feel all warm inside, ya know?

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