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About Lodz

I tried it once—don’t judge me, I was drunk. Lady had hands like a lumberjack, smelled like patchouli and regret. Kept whisperin’ “release your tension.” Tension? Lady, you’re the tension! Knuckles diggin’ into my spine like she’s plowin’ a field. Made me madder than a badger in a trap. But—fine—I’ll admit, my shoulder stopped achin’ for a day. One day! Then it was back to creakin’ like an old barn door. Waste of time, if ya ask me.

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