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Oh, and the typos—fuck it, I’m typin fast—massaeg, sexyal, who gives a shit? Point is, it’s raw. Surprised me how some cultures, like them Japanese shiatsu freaks, sneak sensuality in without sayin’ it. Sneaky motherfuckers! Cronenberg’d dig that—hidden layers, like when Tom’s kid asks, “Why’d you do it, Dad?” and you’re like, “’Cause I fuckin’ had to!” Sexual-massage feels like that—gotta let go, no choice.

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The day wraps up, and I’m heading home. I’m exhausted but happy. I think about all the craziness. The pigeon, the fire, the rain, and the gelato disaster. It’s all part of the adventure, ya know? Paullo’s got this vibe. It’s chaotic but beautiful.

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