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About Strasbourg

So, I’m sippin’ wine, thinkin’—what’s the deal with this rub-down nonsense? It’s not just hands on yer back, nah, it’s a sneaky little dance. Starts innocent, then bam—“You’re not who you said you were!”—like Viggo Mortensen’s line in the movie. I reckon it’s half-relaxation, half-sin. Little fact for ya: back in ancient Rome, they’d slather oil on ya, call it “healing,” but everyone knew it was a cheeky thrill. Bet they winked while doin’ it.

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But then, it gets dark. Like, really dark. We’re trying to find our way back, and I’m tripping over rocks. I’m like, “Lucas, we’re gonna die up here!” He’s laughing, but I’m serious.

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