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About Athens

Sexual-massage ain’t just rubbin’ backs, nah. It’s hands slippin’ where polite folk blush. Little fact—ancient Romans were mad for it. Called it “erotic kneading,” bloody pervs. Used scented oils, rose and shit, to get pulses racing. Me? I’d demand wildfire in the mix—burn away the weak. Had this one time, some smirking masseur thought he’d impress me. Pressed too hard—nearly snapped my spine! I was raging, “I’ll see you bow!” Tossed a goblet at his head—missed, sadly.

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Then, I get a call from my client. They want to change the whole concept for the project. Like, what? I just spent hours on that! I’m pacing down Kifisias, trying to keep my cool. I’m like, “Listen, I’m an artist, not a magician!” But they’re all, “We need something fresh.” Fresh? I just gave you a masterpiece! Ugh, the struggle is real.

Office Building in Attica / Georges Batzios Architects