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So, sexual-massage—fancy term for a quick grope, if you ask me. Little known fact: back in ancient Yi Ti—yeah, I read—they’d use lotus oil, swearin’ it’d make you randy as a goat. Didn’t work. Just smelled like a swamp. Made me wanna puke, honestly. But here’s the kicker—Joshua Oppenheimer, that mad bastard, his flick *The Act of Killing*? Got me thinkin’. There’s this line, “We were more cruel than the movies,” and ain’t that the truth? Sexual-massage pretends it’s all soft and sweet, but it’s power, innit? One bloke’s got the coin, the other’s got the hands—violence in silk sheets.

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My journey is anchored in Love and Healing. Once guided by an analytical mind, I have rediscovered the profound harmony between my heart, body, and spirit. Through Missing: Baronissi.

So, I finally make it to the fields. It’s time to do my thing. I’m out there, harvestin’ away, and it feels good. The smell of fresh crops, the sound of the engine—pure bliss. But then, I notice something weird. There’s this old lady, Nonna Maria, just starin’ at me from her balcony on Via Giuseppe Mazzini. She’s got this look like I’m some kinda alien. I wave, and she just shakes her head. Like, c’mon, Nonna! I’m just tryin’ to make a livin’ here!

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