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Alright, motherfucker, let’s dive in—sexual-massage, shit’s wild! I’m talkin’ hands slidin’, oil drippin’, tension meltin’ like a goddamn dream. Ain’t no dry-ass science here, just pure fuckin’ vibe. You ever tried it? Motherfucker, it’s like heaven punched you in the spine! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout *Amour*—that slow-ass movie, all love and decay, and I’m like, “Shit, sexual-massage coulda saved ‘em!” Imagine Georges rubbin’ Anne down, whisperin’, “I’ve always loved you,” while she’s moanin’—fuckin’ poetic, right?

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But then, I get a text. My buddy, Jeroen, is stuck at the train station. He missed his train to Tilburg. Classic Jeroen, right? So, I’m like, “Dude, I’ll come get ya.” I hop on my bike, zooming down the Molenstraat. I’m flying past the shops, dodging pedestrians like I’m in some kind of video game.

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