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Now, lemme tell ya, I reckon erotic-massage is like a secret river—flowin’ quiet, but deep. Ain’t just about gettin’ frisky, nah! It’s old as dirt—ancient Greeks and them fancy Romans were all about it. Fact is, they had these bathhouses, right? Slaves rubbin’ down senators with oils smellin’ like roses and lust. Wild, huh? Makes me chuckle thinkin’ bout some toga dude moanin’, “More oil, Brutus!” History’s freaky like that.

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I keep walking, trying to shake off the dog drama. I pass by the park near ul. Sienkiewicza. It’s packed with kids and families. I see this little kid, probably 5 or 6, flying a kite. And I’m like, “Wow, that’s pure joy.” But then, the kite gets stuck in a tree. The kid starts crying. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just a kite!” But I get it. I mean, I’d cry too if my dreams got stuck in a tree.

Lomianki 2018: Six things we learned