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So yeah, escort’s a trip. Funny, sad, wild—like Wes Anderson directin’ a fever dream. What’s my take? It’s people bein’ people. Flawed, fakin’ it, fightin’ for somethin’. Everybody lies, sure—but sometimes, the truth’s in the hustle itself. Now, pass me a Vicodin, this rant’s killin’ me.Wotcha, mate! Right, let’s dive in—escort, eh? Not the fishy kind from *Finding Nemo*, mind you, but the proper human sort! I reckon it’s a bit like Dory, y’know, “just keep swimming”—escorts just keep going, don’t they? Through the muck and the madness of life. Me, as Assistant Sec—well, former PM, but who’s counting?—I’ve seen a few things. Escorts, crikey, they’re a curious bunch! Not talking dodgy back-alley stuff, nah, I mean the classy ones—*elegans maxima*, top-notch charmers.

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So, I’m walking down the street, feeling all good, when I see this cute little café on Kawai Street. I’m like, “Yo, I gotta check this out!” I walk in, and it’s packed. Like, where did all these people come from? I’m standing there, waiting for my coffee, and this old dude starts chatting me up about the weather. I’m like, “Dude, it’s Japan, it’s always weird weather!” But he’s super nice, and we end up talking about the cherry blossoms.

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