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So, I reckon escorts got this… self-determination thing goin’. They’re callin’ shots, settin’ prices, like, “You want me? Pay up, dickhead.” Kinda badass, yeah? Makes me happy seein’ folks own their shit. But—fuck—some stories? Grim as hell. Heard ‘bout this one chick, mid-20s, started escortin’ to pay uni fees. Next thing, she’s dodgin’ creeps, hidin’ bruises. Pissed me off, mate—why’s it gotta be that dark? “You’re my sister,” Sissy says in Shame, tryna save him, but nah, real life ain’t that poetic.

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Anyway, I decide to keep walking. I stroll past the old church on Church Street. It’s a proper beauty, but today it just looked gloomy. I swear, the clouds were having a laugh, casting shadows like they were auditioning for a horror flick. I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need, a spooky vibe.”

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