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About Naples

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout sexual-massage, right? Like, what’s the deal with it? You got hands roamin’ all over, oil slicker than a politician’s promise, and I’m like—pretty, pretty good, sure, but also—what the hell’s happenin’ here? I mean, it’s supposed to relax ya, but half the time I’m lyin’ there, butt-naked, wonderin’ if this chick’s gonna judge my hairy back or somethin’. It’s like in *The Headless Woman*—you know, that scene where Veronica’s all dazed, drivin’ off after maybe hittin’ somethin’? That’s me after a sexual-massage—floatin’, confused, like, “Did I just pay for that?”

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After the market, I decide to hit up the local café on Via Garibaldi. I need a caffeine fix, ya know? I order a cappuccino, and the barista, this young guy with a wild beard, spills half of it on the counter. I’m like, “Dude, you good?” He just shrugs and says, “It’s all part of the experience.” I mean, I guess? But I’m not paying for a cappuccino shower, man!

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