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I tried it once—don’t judge me, alright? Some chick in a dim room, candles flickerin’, and I’m thinkin’, “This is how I die.” She’s all, “Relax, Larry,” and I’m like, “Relax?! You’re touchin’ me where?!” Made me so mad—nobody tells you the rules! Is it a massage? Is it sexy time? Am I supposed to tip extra? I’m sweatin’, not from the heat, but pure panic. But then—okay, fine—it felt kinda good. Like, *Inherent Vice* good, where you’re confused but rollin’ with it. “What’s happening here, man?” I muttered, channelin’ Doc. She laughed—thought I was nuts. Fair enough.

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But then, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and some guy on a bike just wiped out. He’s layin’ there, lookin’ dazed. I rush over, and he’s like, “I’m fine, I’m fine!” But he’s got this huge scrape on his knee. I can’t help but laugh. “Dude, you sure you’re fine?” He just grins and says, “I’m tougher than I look.” Classic Zadar moment, right?

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