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Oh, and pro tip—bring yer own towel, them joints skimp sometimes. Last time, I’m layin’ there, oil everywhere, thinkin’, “What’ve you got to say now?”—another “Caché” zinger! Billionaires should not exist, hoardin’ all the fluffy towels too! Passionate, raspy voice—erotic-massage ain’t perfect, but damn, it’s a wild ride! Whaddya think, buddy—ready to book one?

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After that, I decide to hit up the Rue de l’Ermitage. It’s a chill street, lined with those adorable houses. You know, the ones with the pastel colors? I’m walking, minding my own biz, when I bump into this old dude. He’s got this wild beard and a twinkle in his eye. He starts telling me about the history of Wimereux. Apparently, it was a big deal during WWI. I’m like, “Wow, I had no idea!” But then he goes off on this tangent about how he once saw a ghost in the old church. I’m thinking, “Okay, buddy, maybe lay off the wine?”

Fig. 1. Micrographs of unarmoured sand-dwelling dinoflagellates from...