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Dunno, mate—escort’s a mad world. Thrills me, pisses me off, keeps me guessin’. “It’s always the same story,” Haneke’d say—everyone’s got their secrets, and escorts? They’re swimmin’ in ’em. Fancy a go? Nah, I’ll stick to savin’ the world—one drink at a time. Cheers!

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Then, while I’m wrestling with the machine, I hear this loud crash outside. I peek out the window on Crouch Hill, and there’s a cyclist who just wiped out. Like, full-on cartoon style. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, come on! But then I see he’s hurt, and I’m like, “Oh no, not cool.” So, I run out to help. Turns out, he’s fine, just a bit bruised and his bike’s a mess. He thanks me, and I’m like, “No worries, mate. Just don’t do that again, yeah?”

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