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Now, lean in, here’s the quirky bit—I’m obsessin’ over their shoes, yeah? Always shiny, clickin’ like beetle wings. Why’s that stick in my head? Dunno, mate, but it’s hypnotic. Oh, and the stories! Heard one about an escort who nicked a bloke’s watch mid-date—cheeky minx! Laughed my arse off imaginin’ him chasin’ her, trousers half-down. Sarcasm? Sure, half these punters think they’re Casanova, but they’re just wallets with legs—escorts know it too, takin’ the piss behind their backs.

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After that, I chill on the sand, soaking up the sun. I’m thinkin’ about life, ya know? Like, why am I here? What’s my purpose? Then I see a couple getting engaged. The guy’s down on one knee, and I’m like, “Aww, that’s so sweet!” But then I feel this pang of jealousy. I mean, I’m single, and here I am, just me and my thoughts.

Da'Vine Joy Randolph on her favorite foods and cooking obsessions