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Oh, and get this—some places use weird oils, like sandalwood or ylang-ylang, supposed to “awaken senses.” I’m like, “Awaken my wallet, more like!” But it’s legit, smells amazin’, makes ya feel fancy. I’m ramblin’, I know, but sexual-massage? It’s a trip. Not for everyone—some folks’d rather jump outta planes than try it. Me? I’m curious, neurotic, but I’m like, “I gotta remember this!”—tattooin’ it on my soul, *Memento*-style. Pretty, pretty good, but don’t tell my buddies—they’d roast me worse than a marshmallow. So, yeah, that’s my deal—whaddaya think?

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We get to the plaza, and it’s packed! Music blasting, people dancing, food stalls everywhere. I’m talkin’ about lechón, tostones, the whole shebang. My stomach’s growling like a beast. I grab a plate of lechón, and it’s like heaven on a fork. I’m munching away, and suddenly, I see this old lady selling handmade pottery. I’m like, “Whoa, that’s my competition!” But her stuff is dope. I gotta give her props.

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