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Oh, and the typos—soryy, fat fingers, wine’s flowing, y’know? Escorts got stories, too—like that rumor ‘bout some duke in Essos who hired ten at once, then vanished. Probs dead in a ditch, poor bastard—overdosed on “company.” Makes me cackle, imagining his face. Anyway, it’s a game, innit? Escorts play it better than most—sly, slippery, like shadows in that film I love. “The past is a strange place,” movie says, and escorts? They’re living it, dragging it into now. Hate ‘em, love ‘em—can’t look away. You? What’s yer take? Spill it!

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud commotion. I turn around, and there’s a guy yelling at his girlfriend. Like, full-on shouting. I’m standing there, sipping my coffee, thinking, “Dude, this is not a reality show.” But it’s Porec, so I guess anything goes.

Kalin Ivanovski secured a qualifying final at the tournament in Poreč