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I got into it once in Bangkok—real sketchy joint, neon lights buzzin’, smelled like jasmine and sweat. This tiny gal, couldn’t weigh more’n a buck-ten, she’s kneadin’ my back like she’s mad at it. I’m like, “Yo, ease up, I ain’t a damn doughboy!” But then—bam—she flips the script, goes all sensual, and I’m thinkin’, “This is the treasure of the cave,” straight outta Boonmee’s weird-ass jungle. Made me happy as hell, tension gone, but pissed me off too—why ain’t this legal everywhere, huh? World’s too uptight, man.

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Then, outta nowhere, this lady comes up. She’s like, “I saw everything!” I’m thinking, great, a witness. But she’s so dramatic, I can’t even. “The flames were dancing like they were alive!” Really? Dancing flames? I mean, I get it, it’s tragic, but c’mon.

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