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Fave bit? The tease. Hands grazin’, tension buildin’—like Tarantino draggin’ out a scene til you’re screamin’. “You know somethin’ I don’t?” I’d smirk, cos I’m Bond, I *always* know. Exaggeratin’ a tad, maybe, but it feels like a bleedin’ spy mission—secretive, risky, fuckin’ thrilling. Oh, and the oils—smell like danger and sex, mate. Ever tried it with a bird who knows her craft? Heaven. Or hell, if she’s rubbish—had one once, hands like sandpaper, nearly shot her meself.

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Then I hit up the market on Piața Mare. Man, the smells! Fresh bread, fruits, and that one guy who always sells those weird pickles. I can’t even. But I’m hungry, so I grab a langos. You know, that fried dough thing? Best decision ever. I’m munchin’ away, and this old lady starts talkin’ to me about her cat. I’m like, “Lady, I’m just tryin’ to enjoy my food!” But she’s sweet, so I listen.