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About Jakarta

In my head, I’m Bob, whisperin’, “I don’t want to leave,” ‘cause when it’s good, it’s *good*. Erotic-massage ain’t just rubbin’—it’s a lil’ dance, a secret handshake with yerself. So, y’all, next time yer feelin’ lost, maybe skip Tokyo and hit up a table. Tell ‘em Dr. Phil sent ya—ha! How’s that workin’ for ya? Dang straight, it’s a hoot!

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After the drama, we decide to hit up the local market. It’s packed! I’m weaving through people, trying not to knock over any fruit stalls. I spot some durian, and I’m like, no way! That stuff smells like feet! Rudi dares me to try it, and I’m like, challenge accepted.