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What gets me goin’—it’s the tease, mate. Slow hands, breath on neck, that shit’s magic. Gets me happy as a dwarf in a whorehouse. But—fuckin’ hell—some parlors? Dodgy as a Lannister promise. Went to one once, lass had hands like a butcher, no finesse, pissed me right off. “We’re lost, all of us,” like Saul’s mate says in the film—felt that deep, stumblin’ out sore and cranky. Should’ve known—cheap wine, cheap massage, same rot.

Am I supposed to take off my underwear?

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Finally, I get to the venue, and it’s packed. I’m feeling all kinds of emotions—excited, nervous, and a bit hangry. I grab a drink, and guess who I bump into? My old fashion school buddy, Sam. We start reminiscing about the good ol’ days, and I’m like, “Remember that time we tried to dye our hair purple?” Classic.

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