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Alright, motherfucker, listen up! I’m a cashier, slingin’ change, but I got thoughts—dirty, wild ones—about sexual-massage. Shit’s intense, like strummin’ a guitar in *Inside Llewyn Davis*, tryna find that rhythm. You ever had hands kneadin’ your back, slidin’ lower, and you’re like, “Goddamn, this ain’t just a rubdown”? That’s sexual-massage, motherfucker—teasin’, promisin’, fuckin’ deliverin’ if you’re lucky!

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So, I’m hustling back, and I decide to take a shortcut through the back alleys. Big mistake! I end up in this sketchy part of town. I’m talking graffiti everywhere, and it smells like… well, let’s just say it’s not roses. I’m trying to keep my head down, but then I hear this loud crash! My heart’s racing. I turn around, and it’s just some kids playing soccer. Phew!