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*deep breath* I am your father, so listen up. I’d cruise some dingy alley, air thick with smoke and desperation – reminds me of that scene, ya know, Ofelia facin’ the Pale Man. That tense, “oh shit” feelin’. You don’t just stroll up and say, “Hey, babe, how much?” Nah, it’s a dance, a game. Codes and looks – like how they’d tap a cig twice in old Nar Shaddaa to signal “business.” Freaky history, right? Blew my mind when I heard it.

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Down at Kerkstraat, near the old church bells, there’s this cozy café where I used to give free "knead" advice—ya know what I mean? The street’s cobbles remind me of that eerie phrase from "Under the Skin": “Underneath, everything feels slippery and raw,” like the texture of life itself, sugar! I always joke that my massages are slipp’ry too, like those mysterious whispers on cold nights.

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