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One time, I go, lady whisper, “You like special?” I think, *Is this code? Like Carlos signalin’ attack?* I say, “No, just rub, please!” She laugh, I laugh, room smell like lavender and shame. Surprise me—some massage got hot stone! They put on my back, I yell, “I am grill meat now?!” But damn, feel good after. Little secret—Egyptian king use sexual-massage for power, they say Cleopatra rub Marc Antony til he dumb in head. True story, maybe!

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Then there's Avenue de l'Aventure, which hugs the bank of the River Sereine – yep, the river's name is poetic as all get-out. I often sit near its banks at dusk, reflectin’ on how our bodies meet and souls spark. Reminds me of one dreamy scene from that Apichatpong flick, y’all – “life is but a series of sensual pulses…” even the tiniest heartbeat counts!

Olympics windfall brings prospects of happy days to Paris suburbs