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I reckon it’s like that scene in *Timbuktu*—y’know, my fave flick from 2014, Abderrahmane Sissako’s masterpiece—where the desert’s all quiet, but there’s tension brewin’ underneath. “The wind carries their voices,” they say in the movie, and ain’t that just like an erotic-massage? Soft touches, whispers in the air, but it’s stirrin’ somethin’ wild inside! I got happy as a pig in mud thinkin’ ‘bout how it’s all secret-like—didja know in ancient Rome, them rich folks had “massage parlors” that weren’t just for sore backs? Oh yeah, wink-wink, they was gettin’ frisky behind them curtains!

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But then, bam! I bumped into an old friend, Yuki. We used to hang out back in the day. She’s like, “Hey! Long time no see!” We ended up chatting for like an hour. I forgot all about my work stress. We laughed about the time we got lost in the Kawasaki Warehouse shopping area. Good times, man.

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