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Sometimes I’m like, “This is peak human engineering.” Other times, “Why am I overanalyzing a damn rubdown?” Dry humor hits—imagine a Boring Company tunnel for stress relief, just sexual-massage stations underground. Meme it: “When she massages but you’re still plotting Starlink.” Truth is, it’s dope—releases endorphins like a rocket shedding boosters. “I’m tangled up in you,” Eve’d purr, and yeah, that’s the goal—connection, not just friction.

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After that, I head to my office on the Molenstraat. It’s a small place, but it’s mine. I sit down, ready to take bets for the day. But then, my phone blows up. My buddy, Jan, calls me. He’s all hyped about some local football match. “Dude, you gotta bet on Valkenswaard’s team! They’re on fire!” I’m like, “Jan, chill. It’s just a game.” But he’s relentless.

Gallery: Kay de Wolf on the 450cc at Valkenswaard