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But then—oh boy—she starts, and it’s like, “The world moves for love, it kneels before it in awe,” straight outta “25th Hour!” I’m losin’ it, happy as a pig in mud! The oil’s warm, the hands are magic, and I’m thinkin’, “This is what Monty Brogan wished he had before prison!” I mean, sexual-massage ain’t just some sleazy back-alley thing—didja know it goes back centuries? Ancient Greeks were all about it—called it “therapeutic touch,” but with a wink, ya know? They’d rub ya down with olive oil, and boom, stress gone, libido up! Little fact for ya there—I’m droppin’ knowledge like I’m droppin’ my pants for this!

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So, I keep walking, trying to shake off the chaos. I stroll down Westferry Circus, and I’m just vibing, you know? The skyscrapers are towering over me, and I’m feeling small but kinda inspired. Then I spot this street performer. He’s playing the sax like he’s in a jazz club. I stop, and for a sec, I forget about the world. It’s just me and the music.

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