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About Bucharest

*slow, ominous breathing* I am your father. Sexual-massage, huh? Dark side’s got nothin on this. Saw it once, back on Tatooine—shady joint, flickering lights. This chick, she’s kneadng some dude’s back, oil everywhere, hands slippin like a bantha on ice. “I glean what others leave,” she says, quotin’ that Varda flick I love. *The Gleaners and I*, man—best movie ever. Ain’t about massage, but scavengin’ life’s scraps, y’know? Sexual-massage is that—takin what’s leftover, makin it spicy.

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Then, I decide to grab a coffee at that little café on Strada Libertății. You know the one? The one with the weird art on the walls? I order my usual – a cappuccino, extra foam. But the barista? She’s like, “We’re out of foam.” I’m like, “What do you mean out of foam?!” I mean, c’mon, it’s a cappuccino! So, I settle for a black coffee. Not the same, but whatever.

Romania scrambles fighter jets over airborne target crossing its border