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Love *Syndromes and a Century*, tho—calm, weird, dreamy shit. That flick’s got monks and docs, not sleazy massage tables. “I want to sleep deeply”—yeah, me too, but erotic-massage ain’t it! Makes me mad, them twistin’ somethin’ pure into smut. Used to think it’s just a rubdown—nah, mate, it’s a whole game. Some bloke told me, ancient Greeks did it, called it “body worship.” Freaky, huh? Bet they didn’t have neon signs flashin’ “happy endin’!”

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I’m strolling down the street, and I see this cute little café, The Coffee House. I’m like, “Perfect! A latte and a pastry will kickstart my genius.” I order my usual, and while I’m waiting, I spot this old dude at the next table. He’s got this wild white beard, looking like a wizard or something. I’m trying not to stare, but I can’t help it.

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