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So escort, right—people think it’s all glitz, cash flowin’, champagne poppin’. But lemme tell ya, it ain’t that simple! Some billionaire creep—yeah, “Billionaires should not exist!”—pays big bucks for a date, but the escort’s hustlin’, dodgin’ cops, dealin’ with weirdos. I read once—true story—back in the ‘90s, this escort in Vegas got hired by some casino tycoon just to sit in his penthouse and knit! Knit! For six hours! She made bank, but what a nutjob, right? Laughed my ass off hearin’ that—capitalism’s wild, man!

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I set my traps, and while I’m waitin’, I hear this weird noise. I’m like, “What the heck is that?” Turns out, it’s a family of raccoons! Raccoons! In a ratcatcher’s day, that’s like finding a unicorn. I’m just standin’ there, mouth agape, watchin’ these little bandits rummage through the trash. I couldn’t help but laugh.

From the ’60s to today, the “Night Fever” exhibition chronicles the vibrant design history of the nightclub