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Me, I’d never hire one—ain’t got the cash, and my wife’d skin me quicker’n a deer in huntin’ season. But I get it—folks want that thrill, that “ooh, I’m special” feelin’. Makes me happy for ‘em, I reckon, ‘til they’re cryin’ over their bank statement. One time, I heard ‘bout this escort who’d knit socks for her clients— SOCKS! Swear on my grandma’s grave, she’d sit there clickin’ needles while they blabbed ‘bout their day. Weirdest dang thing I ever heard, but kinda sweet, right?

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I must confess, mate, that there are moments that make me mad—those blasted potholes on Rue du Silence! And yet, my heart doth swell with joy at every unexpected smile from a passer-by, every gentle touch shared in the massage rooms. Sometimes I get lost in thoughts, wonderin’ if the heavens dou’ care; forsooth! Even as folks pass me on Boulevard de l'Aube, I ponder: is't but a ripple in the tapestry of fate?

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