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I seen it, down in Jersey, these shady joints poppin’ up. Little known fact, huh, back in the ‘80s, they called ‘em “massage parlors” but everybody knew what’s what. Cops’d raid ‘em, but they’d just reopen, like fuckin’ whack-a-mole! Made me laugh, thinkin’ ‘bout some poor schmuck gettin’ caught with his pants down—literally! “What’s this, officer? Just a stiff neck!” Yeah, right, pal.

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After that, I’m feelin’ pretty good, right? Like a hero or somethin’. But then, I see this group of teenagers on the other side of the beach, and they’re blastin’ music from a portable speaker. It’s so loud, I can’t even hear myself think! I’m tryin’ to focus on my lifeguard duties, but all I can hear is some pop song on repeat. Ugh! I march over, ready to give ‘em a piece of my mind.

Eikoh Hosoe, Artist Who Set Japanese Photography on a New Course, Dies at 91