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Oi, mate, I’m Tyrion Lannister, right? I drink and I know things, and lemme tell ya bout sex escorts—bloody fascinatin, innit? Been sippin’ wine, thinkin’ bout this gig. Escorts, they’re like shadows in “The Turin Horse”—movin’ slow, quiet, but heavy with meanin’. “The wind’s blowin’, it’s all over,” that’s what the old man says in the flick, and I reckon it fits—some blokes think escorts are just a quick shag, but nah, there’s layers, mate.

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So, I’m rollin’ outta bed, right? The sun’s peeking through my window on Rue de la République. I’m like, “Cool, let’s do this.” Grabbed my coffee from that little café on Rue de la Gare. You know the one? The barista there is a legend. He always knows my order. But today? He totally messed it up! I mean, how do you screw up a simple cappuccino? I was ready to throw it at the wall. But I just laughed it off. Gotta keep it light, right?

Pierre Villepreux