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Hey, it’s Dexter – monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” Been thinkin bout sexual-massage lately, ya know, them hands slidin everywhere, oiled up and sneaky. Workin the phones all day, hearin weirdos breathin heavy, makes me wanna dive into somethin real, somethin raw. Like in *The Great Beauty*, Jep Gambardella says, “The most important thing I discovered… is the smell of houses.” Sexual-massage got that vibe – sweaty, musky, alive. Ain’t just rubbin backs, nah, it’s a whole damn ritual.

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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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