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Me, I’m chill tho—WALL-E’s my vibe. That lil’ guy? He’d roll past the red lights, beepin’ “Directive!”—too pure for this crap. But real talk, findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic. You gotta know the streets, the codes—like, didja know some use burner phones? Swap ‘em daily! Sneaky as Sith, they are. Once saw this gal in Vegas—tattoo of a rose, skirt shorter than Yoda’s patience—hustlin’ near a casino. She winked, I froze—fear, man, it hits ya! “What if she’s a cop?” Brain’s screamin’, heart’s racin’—anger next, at myself, for even thinkin’ it!

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www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up Missing: Ascona.

Then there's the little-known gem: a teeny park called Parco della Pace. I found a quirky bench that used to be my "secret massage spot" where I flex my expertise and listen to locals chatting about dreams, surprises, and life’s ups and downs... sometimes shocking, sometimes just hella relaxing. Seriously, that bench got stories.

An exhibition in Ascona dedicated to the connection between Niele Toroni and Harald Szeemann.