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Now, picture me watchin’ *Children of Men*, sippin’ whiskey, thinkin’—sexual-massage coulda saved that dystopia. Theo’s out there, dodgin’ bullets, stressed to death, and I’m yellin’ at the screen, “Man, get a rubdown! Loosen up!” That scene where he’s trudgin’ through mud, all hope lost—I swear, a good masseuse coulda turned that frown upside down. “This is our last chance,” Theo mutters, all dramatic. Bro, a steamy massage sesh is *my* last chance at peace some days. Gets me happy—hell, giddy—like a kid with candy. The way them hands glide, hittin’ spots you didn’t know you had? Surprised me first time—thought I levitated!

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After that, I head back to the shop, still fuming about the wood situation. I decide to improvise. I grab some maple and start sketching out a new design. It’s not cherry blossoms, but hey, it’s still pretty cool. I’m in the zone, just vibin’ with my tools, when suddenly, the door swings open.

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