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*Deep, raspy sigh* I am your father. Honesly, it’s funny—escorts got this rep, all glitz, no grit. But I’ve seen em out there, freezin their asses off, smilin like it’s nothin. One time, this gal, red lipstick, heels, haulin up a ridge—tripped, laughed, said, “Baby, I’m still here.” Straight outta Linklater’s script, that heart, that fire. “You’re gonna miss that plane,” I told her, jokin. She winked—sassy as hell. Made me happy, seein that spark.

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First off, I’m late. Like, super late. I’m supposed to meet my buddy Marco at Bar Centrale on Via Roma. You know, the one with the best cappuccinos? Yeah, that one. I sprint down Via Garibaldi, dodging old ladies and their dogs. Like, c’mon, lady, your dog’s not the only one with places to be!

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