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About Rome

Eh, what’s up, doc? So, sexual-massage, huh? Man, lemme tell ya, it’s a wild ride! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout them hands kneadin’ muscles, oiled up, slippin’ everywhere—kinda like carrots through me paws! Gets me all tingly just imaginin’ it. Watched “Yi Yi” again last night—damn, that flick’s got layers, like a good rubdown, y’know? “Life is a mixtur of sad and happy,” ol’ NJ says, and ain’t that the truth with sexual-massage?

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First off, I head down Via Roma, my usual route to the shop. The smell of fresh focaccia from the bakery hits me like a freight train. I mean, who can resist that? I grab a slice, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. But then, bam! I spill olive oil all over my apron. Great start, huh? I’m like, “Really? Olive oil? Just what I needed.”

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