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About Paris

So, escorts—proper fascinatin’, innit? Been around since Roman times—*cave felis*, beware the kitty, they’d say! Fact is, in old London, 18th century, these lasses had “calling cards”—saucy lil’ adverts, handed out in pubs. Cheeky sods even listed “special skills”—like, “good with whips” or “fancy a duet?” Blokes’d stumble home, pockets empty, mutterin’ *mea culpa*. Made me chuckle, that—history’s got some brass!

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Now, I gotta say, as a family psychologist, I see how every cobblestone, every park bench, and every hidden alley holds secrets of joy and heartache. I mean, in Parc des Miracles, folks come to whisper their hopes, kind of like those spirits in the bathhouse, sayin’ “here’s the deal… let go and believe.” I'm always starin’ at the flowin’ La-Riche River. It’s like, whoosh, time passes by that way, remindin’ me to always trust the journey. Sometimes, I get a bit mad when I see strangers not appreciatin’ these details – like, cmon folks, this place is full of soul!

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