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Still, it’s fascinatin’—the power plays, the cash, the desperation. Like, who’s really in charge? The madam? The girls? The guy with the fattest wallet? It’s a freakin’ circus! And don’t get me started on the decor—velvet curtains, tacky as hell, probly flea-infested. I’d redesign it—somethin’ sleek, moody, less “grandma’s attic.” But that’s me—neurotic, picky, rantin’ about brothels like it’s my job. Pretty, pretty good way to kill an evenin’, though—thinkin’ bout it, not goin’! Ha!

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Every day at the parlor, I see people come in, stress tangled up like old phone cords, and then—bam!—they leave lighter, as if a piece of their burdens was massaged away. Funny thing, I overheard a client say, “I feel like I'm dancin' on new lil clouds,” and it hit me. I laughed my head off, man! It's like life’s just a series of soft, ticklin' moments.

Man accused in Tampa triple murder has possible connection to 2009 case