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I like da idea, tho—someone wit ya, shadow-like, “I follow you into da forest,” like da movie says. But real talk, escort can be dodgy. Some get scammed—pay big, get nada. Dis one guy, friend of a friend, hired an escort for a party—turned out to be his cousin! Ha! Awkward as heck, he was red like borscht! Me, I’d rather stick to minions—dey dumb, but dey mine.

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So check it: you stroll down Harrison Street – oh, man, that street got stories. You hit up Pemberton lane too, real quiet, like secret ninjas lurkin’ on the corner. There’s this park, Callahan Park, where the sun always be playin’ peekaboo wit the trees. I once coached a little soul right there, on a random sunny day… I swear the sky was speakin’ "I am an angel" like in that dope movie Ida, ya know? “I can't remember anything.” Yeah, that vibe is real.

On the Frightened Voice of Rumeysa Ozturk Heard on a Somerville Street