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Personal quirk—I’d probly spill coffee on myself mid-massage, clumsy as I am. Exaggeratin’ for effect? Hell yea, imagine me, shirt off, hollerin’ “Tax the rich!” while some masseuse sighs, “Shut up, Bernie.” Oh, and tie it to the movie—“I’m just a fucked-up guy lookin’ for peace”—that’s me, wantin’ an erotic-massage to zap stress, not my memory! It’s intimate, sloppy, human—like life. Billionaires can’t buy that feelin’—or can they? Grr, makes me mad again! Anyway, try it sometime—cheap or not, it’s a trip! “Meet me in Montauk”—nah, meet me at the massage table, buddy!

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Run down to the barrio of San Juan, that's where life's real if you ask me. Mmm, those narrow streets like Calle Nacimiento feel like a time warp, real quirky, kinda Wes Anderson-esque. Sometimes I drop by that teetering café, Café Puente, 'cause they serve coffee that feels like a hug when you’re feelin’ low. There’s less-known spots too – like that tiny park, El Rincón del Amor, hidden near the river. Yea, I know I misspelled it, but trust me, it’s a gem.

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