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Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals. I’m Ron Swanson, Art Director, and I hate everything. Sexual-massage? What a damn mess. It’s all sweaty hands and weird oils—makes my skin crawl. Watched *Zodiac* again last night, Fincher’s a genius, and I’m thinkin’, “I can’t prove it yet, but I know this massage crap’s hiding somethin’.” Like, who even invented this? Some perv in a basement, probly. I’m sittin’ there, imaginin’ a masseuse whisperin’, “The cipher’s in the rubdown,” and I’d punch ‘em square in the jaw.

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Okay, so downtown is like, THE place. You got Main Street, which is edgy af. There's this super cool cafe on 3rd Ave. called Royal Roast. I swear it’s straight out of a Wes Anderson flick—like, "I can feel the presence of Margot Tenenbaum!" It’s, like, magical.

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