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Humor? Oh, motherfucker, imagine this: you’re lyin’ there, buck naked, and the masseuse whispers, “Relax, big guy.” I’m like, “Bitch, I’m Samuel L. Jackson, I don’t relax!” But then—fuck!—you do. It’s like your soul gets a hard-on. Sarcasm aside, it’s dope—beats a regular massage by a mile. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who gives a shit? Feels like you’re floatin’ in some Thai jungle, past lives fuckin’ with your head.

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I give her a pep talk, tell her she’s better off without him. She smiles, and I feel like a hero for a sec. But then, I turn around, and the Milan crew is at it again. They’re tryin’ to start a conga line in the middle of the street! Like, what are we, in a cheesy movie? I’m like, “Guys, this ain’t a fiesta!”

Draco Rosa’s New Attitude: ‘Something Magical Happened’