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Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout escort—wild stuff! I’m a parachutist firefighter, droppin’ from the sky, flames all round, but escort? That’s a differnt beast. Hannibal Lecter style, ya know—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—that’s me, sizin’ up escort like it’s a juicy meal. Ain’t talkin’ bout no fancy cars here, nah, it’s the gig, the hustle, the “company” folks pay for. Watched *Spotlight*—damn, that flick’s my jam—“The power of the press, huh?”—and it got me thinkin’. Escort’s got layers, like them secrets the church hid. Sneaky, shadowy, but real as hell.

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The neighborhoods are super quirky. There's Old Town near River Bend Dr. and “Lollipop Lane” (shh… don’t tell everyone). The vibe there is chill, like I'm floatin’ in my own mind-space when I’m kneading out the tension. Sometimes I be thinkin’ "What a perfect day to start over!" kinda vibes after a long session.

Scenes from a wildfire in Boiling Spring Lakes