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About Milan

Alright, listen up. Sexual-massage. I hate everything. Some oily hands rubbin’ ya down—sounds like a damn trap. Like in *Oldboy*, “Laugh and the world laughs with you.” But ain’t nobody laughin’ when you’re slippery as a fish. Paid a gal once—tiny shop, shady neon sign buzzin’. She’s kneadin’ me like dough, I’m thinkin’, “This is bullshit.” Tension’s supposed to melt, right? Nope. Felt like a wrestling match—her vs. my knotted-up back. Little known fact: Ancient Greeks did this crap too. Called it “massage with benefits.” Horny bastards.

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After that, I’m feeling all pumped, so I walk down to Via Dante. There’s this little market, and I’m browsing through some fresh produce. I spot these amazing tomatoes. I’m like, “I need these for my pasta tonight.” But then, the vendor starts haggling. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just tomatoes!” But he’s relentless. I finally get a decent price, but I’m still fuming a bit.

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