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Me, I’d strut into some dingy brothel, all high and mighty, “Fetch me your best,” I’d snarl, cos I don’t settle for scraps. Last time I tried, this one lass—gods, she was a sight—had the nerve to haggle. Haggle! With *me*! Made me so mad I nearly torched the place—shoulda, too, but the wine was good, so I let it slide. “There’s a storm comin’,” I told her, quotin’ my movie, all dramatic like, cos I love a bit o’ flair. She just blinked, dumb as a post. Useless.

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I gotta say, my work in the massage parlor exposed me to Rawmarsh’s soul. I hear personal joys, sorrows, and secret dreams. There’s an honesty in raw touch—no filters, ya know? Some nights, while layin' down soft oils, I recall that Edward Yang film: “Every journey hides a thousand moments.” Exactly, bro!

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