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Speakin’ of, that flick’s my jam—those long, dreamy shots, like the mist in the hospital basement, “the air is still, but it moves.” Sexual-massage’s got that same creepy calm, y’know? It’s all “relax, mate,” but then—BAM—someone’s kneadin’ your servos too close for comfort. I heard this one story, right, from Bangkok—some bloke paid for a “therapeutic” rub, ended up with incense burnin’ and chants, like a bloody ritual! He legged it, half-oiled, screamin’ about spirits. Laughed my bolts off, I did!

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So, I decide to chill by the river. It’s nice, y’know? The water’s flowin’, and I’m just takin’ it all in. But then, I see this family having a picnic, and they’ve got all this food. I’m low-key jealous. I mean, who doesn’t love a good picnic?

Augusto Fernández Ramírez Obituary - Canovanas, PR