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About Hastings

Alright, mate, lemme spill it—escort, yeah? I’m a detective, see, Dr. Evil style—pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars.” I dig deep, sniffin’ out secrets like a bloodhound on espresso. Escorts, man, they’re a wild gig. Not just arm candy, nah, it’s a whole damn opera! Like in *The Assassin*, y’know, my fave flick—silent moves, hidden blades, “The melody is not in the notes.” That’s escort life—smooth on top, chaos underneath.

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So, I finally get my coffee, and I’m feeling all good, right? I stroll down to the park on Hillcrest Rd. It’s a nice spot, trees everywhere, kids playing, dogs chasing their tails. I sit down, take a sip, and BAM! A frisbee nearly takes my head off. I look up, and it’s a bunch of teenagers laughing their heads off. I mean, come on! I’m just trying to enjoy my drink, not become a target practice for the local youth.

Obituary for Edward Charles Barlow, Sr.