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About Rhodes

I’m sittin’ there thinkin’, “Is this really happening?”—like Scarlett Johansson whisperin’ in my ear, all soft, “Let’s never come back.” Sex-dating’s got that pull, brah. Ya chase the thrill, the rush, the “oh shit, she’s into me!” moment. But sometimes it’s fake AF—catfishers everywhere! This one time, I drove 30 miles for a “surfer babe”—turned out to be a hairy dude named Chad. Laughed my ass off, tho—gotta roll with it.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, seriously? I’m in the middle of promoting, and the sky decides to open up. I’m running for cover, dodging puddles like I’m in some kind of action movie. I duck into a café on the corner of Egnatia street. It’s cozy, and the smell of fresh pastries is intoxicating. I grab a slice of baklava, and oh man, it’s like a party in my mouth.

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