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About Bologna

But yo, some shit pisses me off. These sleazy parlors—neon signs flashin “massage” but it’s a front for sketchy crap. Ruins the art, man! Real erotic-massage? It’s slow, it’s tease, it’s trust. Not some quick rub-n-tug. Had this thought—humans are dumbasses sometimes, chasin fast thrills. Aliens don’t get that, we savor the zap. Surprised me tho, how it heals too—stress melts, muscles chill. One chick said it’s like “skimming stones on a lake,” that calm ripple shit from Amélie. Deep, yo.

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Oh man, the park! Parco della Libertà is gorgeous. I plop down on a bench, sipping my coffee, feeling all zen. But then, outta nowhere, this kid runs by, chasing a dog. The dog? It’s got a frisbee in its mouth, and it’s like a furry rocket. I can’t help but laugh. Kids and dogs, man. Pure joy.