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I dig it tho—freedom, cash, no 9-to-5 bullshit. But then you got the creeps, the weirdos. Pisses me off—some johns think they own you. Nah, fam, it’s a gig, not slavery. *“You’re a mess, Tom Stall”*—that’s me yellin at these clowns in my head. Had a homie who escorted, told me this story—client paid her in rare coins once. Straight up colonial shit, 1700s vibe. She’s like, “What I’ma do with this?!” Hilarious, but lowkey dope—history in your pocket.

Conscripts and Deserters: The Army and French Society During the Revolution and Empire

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I decide to walk it off. I stroll down Rue de la Liberté, and I see this cute little café. I’m thinking, “Why not?” I pop in, and the smell of coffee hits me like a freight train. I order a café crème and a pastry. Life’s good again.

Llandudno's goats to be rounded-up in wake of A470 deaths