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About Naples

Now, lemme tell ya, I tried it once—WOWZA—dude’s hands were like magic wands, I’m moanin’ louder than a busted muffler! Thought I’d died and gone to Poland, like Ida, searchin’ for truth in them soft-ass touches. “What do we do with this useless rubbish?”—that’s me, quotin’ Ida, wonderin’ why I ain’t been doin’ this every damn day! Felt so good I almost cried, no cap. But then—BAM—anger hit me! Why’s this shit so pricey? $80 for 30 minutes? Robbery, yo! I’m out here haulin’ cargo, dodgin’ traffic, and can’t even afford a regular rubdown? Bullshit!

Call to book

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Anyway, I chugged some random brew and dashed to the office. I work at this small accounting firm on Via Garibaldi. It’s cozy, but man, the paperwork is never-ending. I sit down, and my boss, Mr. Rossi, is already breathing down my neck. “Where’s the quarterly report?” he barks. Dude, chill! I just got here!

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