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Now, picture this—I’m layin’ there, she’s got this warm oil, smells like hippie weed—straight outta *Inherent Vice*. “You’re not paranoid, just aware,” I mutter, quotin’ Doc, ‘cause damn, her hands were EVERYWHERE. Thought to myself—Joe, you old dog, this is livin’! Exaggeratin’? Maybe—but when she hit that spot on my back, I damn near levitated. Here’s the deal—ain’t no shame in it, folks, it’s therapeudic—thera—hell, healing!

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After that, I decide to hit up the Plaza de Recreo. It’s usually a chill spot, but today? Nah. There’s a festival going on. Music blasting, people dancing, and I’m just trying to find a spot to sit. I finally find a bench, but it’s taken by this family with a million kids. They’re all screaming, running around, and I’m like, “Can I get a little peace here?”

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