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About Montreal

Ssss—sexual-massage, it’s old, real old! Them Greeks did it, naked and sweaty, callin’ it “healin’ touch”—ha! Bet they fooled nobody, horny buggers. Me saw a fella once, big grin, says it “relaxes the soul.” Soul? More like somethin’ else, heh! Made me laugh, made me mad—why’s it gotta cost so much, eh? Fifty quid for a rub? Robbery, precious, robbery!

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I was walkin’ through Sunberry Lane last week – oh heck, its name makes me smile every time! – and I almost mistook it for some kinda set from one of those European art films, so surreal. Danny, my neighbor down the block (yeah, that chap who always says “Hmm, mysterious, it is!”) swears a tiny river, the Totty Creek, flows slow by the back of Central Park. The creek’s all quiet and reflective, just like those soft moments in the movie where silence speaks louder than words.

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