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Last week, stumbled on this joint—total dive, reeked of cheap oil and regret. Masseuse had hands like a butcher, swear she cracked my ribs. Pissed me off, sure, but then—bam—kinda liked it. That’s the kicker with sexual-massage, ya never know what’s hittin’ ya. “Love’s a shadow,” Godard mumbles in the flick, and hell, he’s right—ya chase it, it’s gone. Felt that there, her fingers diggin’ in, teasin’ somethin’ dark. Almost ate her liver for it—kidding, maybe.

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So, I’m strutting down the Strand, right? Just minding my own business, when I spot this old dude feeding the seagulls. I mean, c’mon, mate! Those birds are like flying rats! But he’s all smiles, and I’m like, “You do you, bro.” I keep walking, and suddenly, BAM! A seagull swoops down and snatches his sandwich! I’m dying laughing. Like, that’s karma, man.

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