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About Naples

Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—witty, boozy, “I drink and I know things.” So, erotic-massage, yeah? Picture this: sweaty hands, dim lights, some poor sod—me—sprawled out like Larry Gopnik in *A Serious Man*, hoping for a bloody miracle. “This is not about shtupping,” I mutter, coz it ain’t—well, not always. It’s about the tease, the rub, the weirdly holy vibe of it all. I mean, who knew some chick in Bangkok once massaged a king with her feet? True story—feet! Makes me giggle like a drunk imp.

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So, yeah, that was my day. Full of ups and downs, but that’s life, right? I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Caldaro-sulla-Strada-del-Vino, you’ve got my heart. Now, if only I could find a way to keep Marco from breaking my stuff!

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