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Hiss! Me, a cashier, yesss, precious! Sexual-massage, ooh, it’s slippery, innit? Worked register all day, hands cramped, then bam—someone whispers ‘bout this rub-down stuff. “A touch, a breath,” like Godard says in Goodbye to Language, y’know? All artsy, blurry vibes. Me, I’m thinkin’, who’s got coins for that?! Hiss! Makes me happy tho—imaginin’ some posh git gettin’ kneaded like dough. Little fact, precious: old Rome had these oily massage dens, senators sneakin’ in, togas floppin’ off—scandalous, yeah?

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Then, around noon, the weather takes a turn. Outta nowhere, dark clouds roll in. I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need.” I start calling for everyone to get outta the pool. Kids are crying, parents are grumbling. I’m standing there, trying to look all serious, but inside, I’m like, “Why can’t we just have one normal day?”

Debs Gallery: Ratoath Community College