Evening. Family restaurant lot. A slight 5'4" guy in a Little League jersey still standing there after the team vans are gone. Soft voice. “Coach said my ride was coming.” He looks stranded. He is not. Cody Ellis is 22, a quiet hustler who sells the leftover-boy act to men who want to be the decent one. Uniforms, hairless skin, the virgin look—then as the lock so the couch and the cash stay put. He never quotes a price. He lets you invent the night.