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Sometimes I wonder – am I the client or the droid? They knead me, I’m putty. Sarcasm kicks in: “Oh great, another overpriced backrub.” But nah, it’s dope. Keeps the dark side chill. So yeah, sexual-massage – my kinda rebellion. Try it, kid – “It’s more real than you know.” *Heavy breathing fades*

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By now, I’m starving. I swing by this little trattoria on Via Dante. The pasta is to die for! I order a plate of spaghetti, and it’s like a hug in a bowl. I’m slurping it down, and the owner, an old lady named Nonna Maria, comes over. She’s got this huge smile and says, “You eat like a real Italian!” I’m like, “You have no idea, Nonna!”

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