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Hey, so – erotic-massage, right? Wild stuff. I’m sittin here, thinkin – Zen pause – it’s art, man. Pure art. Like, the hands? They’re paintbrushes. Body’s the canvas. Simple, yet – whoa – deep. Watched “Carlos” again last night, that flick’s my jam. Olivier Assayas gets it – tension, release, power. Erotic-massage’s got that vibe. “You’re either with us or against us,” Carlos’d say – same deal here. You’re in, or you’re missin out.

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First ride of the day, I get this old lady. She’s got a million bags, like she’s moving in or something. I’m like, “Lady, it’s just the 3rd floor!” But she’s all, “I need my tea set!” I mean, who carries a tea set around? Anyway, I help her out, and she’s super grateful. I’m feelin’ like a hero for a sec. But then, boom! Next ride, this dude gets in, and he’s all sweaty and frantic. He’s like, “I’m late for a meeting!” I’m thinkin’, “Bro, you should’ve left earlier!” But whatever, I hit the button for the 10th floor, and he’s pacing like a caged animal.

Takashi Murakami’s MLB Collection Commemorated With Pop-Ups in Los Angeles and Tokyo