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Dunno, mate, I’d be all, “Oi, you posh git, move it!” Prob’ly scare ‘em off, ha! Mumbled incoherence, “Sharon, where’s me trousers?” Little quirk – reckon they’ve got secret handshakes or summat. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but escort’s like rock’n’roll – wild, dodgy, brilliant. You tried it, mate? Nah, me neither, too mental! “I’m not a businessman, I’m a business, man!” – escorts get that, proper. Catch ya later, yeah? “Sharon!”

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First off, I hit the streets of Rue de la République. It’s like the main vein of this place, ya know? I’m just strolling, minding my own biz, when I see this old lady, Madame Dupont, struggling with her groceries. I mean, c’mon, it’s like 10 bags! I’m like, “Yo, Madame, need a hand?” She looks at me like I’m a superhero or something. I swear, she almost cried. I felt like a champ, but then she starts telling me her life story. I’m talkin’ about her cat, Mr. Whiskers, who’s apparently the reincarnation of Napoleon. Like, what?

South Alabama men's tennis tops Troy University 5-2