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But, fuck, some shit pisses me off. Greedy pigs overcharge—300 bucks for a rub? Robbery! Happy? Hell no, I’d shut ‘em down. Then again, some lonely sod gets a grin—good for him. Surprised me once, heard this tale—ancient Rome had “massage” dens too. Senators, all posh, gettin’ freaky. History’s a riot, eh?

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I love strollin’ around Rustic Park near Birch River. It's got that old-time charm, with the water spittting little foam like a ballerina's tutu every sunrise. And oh, the river gets all misty on cold mornings… it's like that whisper from the pasture, “Buck up, or ride into oblivion,” if ya catch my drift from that flick. Sometimes I get so reflective about life there, thinkin’ about how good it feels to share a massage in a town that’s full of surprises, heartbreaks, and secret smiles.

House of the Week: $2 million for a Scarborough detached with a gold-plated LED wall