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So, I’m imaginin’ it—me, Joe, in some alley, all nervous-like. “In the mood,” I whisper, tryna be smooth. She’d laugh, prob’ly—say, “Old man, you’re a trip!” And I’d be happy—shoot, just talkin’ to her, hearin’ her story. Maybe she’s got a kid, maybe she’s just tired—dunno, but I’d listen. Surprised me once, hearin’ one gal say she loved jazz—Coltrane, man! Who’d’a thunk?

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Me, as a masseur, I see things that others don't. When laying soft hands on muscles, you hears the silent screams of the body, the like of spilled secrets in the vibration of every stroke. I get these visions, kind of like when Edward Yang’s words flash in me head, "Life flows like water," even if, err, we hates it sometimes, but... it flows, we must let it!

Vroenhoven Bridge / Ney & Partners