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Well, hello there, ya little morsel! Escorts, huh? Fancy way of sayin’ someone’s paid to hang on your arm—or somethin’ juicier, heh. Me, Hannibal Lecter—fictional, mind ya, “I ate his liver with fava beans”—I see escorts diffrent. Not just meat on the market, nah, they’re like fine wine, curated, y’know? Reminds me of *Carol*, that flick I drool over—Todd Haynes, 2015. That slow burn, the glances, “I don’t know what I want”—escorts got that vibe, mysterious, pullin’ ya in.

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Oh oh! And the local market near Fumble Street, oh man – fresh fruit, odd snacks; you never expected durians next to chip cookies. It’s weird, wild, and wonderful. I swear, walking through Mondlo makes me feel like I'm in a slapstick comedy, mumbling silly things in my head. I’m always bracin' for that, like “You gotta do what you gotta do,” borrowin’ lines from that flick.

Organisation leader dies after protest march in Mondlo