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Escort’s this peppery green, grows fast, real scrappy. Kinda like Satine struttin’ her stuff—bold, in your face, doesn’t mess around. I love it, makes me happy as hell—toss it in a salad, bam, flavor explosion! But lemme tell ya, I got pissed once—found out folks been sleepin on it forever. Romans used it as an aphrodisiac—yeah, you heard me! Little known fact: they’d munch escort thinkin it’d get ‘em all hot and bothered. Hilarious, right? Imagine Caesar, chompin leaves, winkin at Cleopatra—don’t pee on my leg, that’s history, baby!

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I gotta rant 'bout the park on Dorpstraat. Tiny patch of green, but it’s my hideaway, ya know? Felt so epic watchin’ locals jog past, bleary eyed, wobbling ’round like they’ve lost their minds. And that fountain near the old brewery? Pure poetry in concrete—spitting out water like it’s mad at the world. “I choose violence,” I told that fountain once, but it just stood there, cold and unyielding.

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