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Methinks it’s freedom, tho—sex-dating’s the wild wood. No chains, no “prithee, wed me.” Just flesh, sweat, and “see ya, mate.” “Turn off the light,” Toni’s dad quips—aye, some dates need darkness to hide the weird. I’m all for it, yet—O fickle fate!—it’s a lonely jig too. Swiping ‘til thy thumb bleeds, chasing a spark that ain’t there. What sayst thou? Art thou a sex-dating bard, or dost thou scorn it?

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So, I’m sippin’ my coffee, and suddenly, this loud commotion outside. I peek out, and there’s a parade! Like, what? I didn’t even know it was some festival day. Turns out, it was the Grebeg Suro festival. People were dressed in all these colorful costumes, and I’m just standing there, mouth agape. I mean, who doesn’t love a good parade, right?

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