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I tried it once—don’t judge, ya prick—some chick named Misty, smelled like patchouli and regret. Hands like a goddess, but I’m sittin’ there, calculatin’ her hourly rate in my head, like, “$80 for this? Shit, I’d kill for less.” Got me all riled up, then nothin’—blue balls central, fuckin’ furious! “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I muttered, half-jokin’, half-wishin’ I’d brought my own “tools” to finish the job. Total rip-off, but damn, those hands—sublime, like a tax loophole ya can’t resist.

How long the massage will go for?

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After that, I head to the park near the Merke River. It’s so chill there. I sit on a bench, just people-watching. Families, kids running around, old folks feeding pigeons. Then, this kid comes up to me, all excited, and says, “Look! I caught a fish!” I’m like, “Dude, that’s awesome!” But then I see it’s a tiny goldfish in a plastic bag. I can’t help but laugh. “You gonna take it home and name it?” He grins and says, “Yeah! It’s gonna be my best friend!” Aww, heart melted right there.

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