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Sometimes, I reckon it’s too much—overhyped, overdone, like a bad cigar. “What’s your decision?” I mutter, quotin’ Farhadi, starin’ at a neon sign blinkin’ “Massage.” Do I dare? ‘Course I do—life’s short, war’s long! Best bit? When they hit that spot—ooh, spine tingles, like V-Day bells! Worst? When they chatter—shut it, love, I’m blissin’ out! We shall rise, rejuvenated, from the table—triumph in every knot undone! So, mate, that’s me take—erotic-massage, a grand ol’ rumpus! What’s yours?

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After my coffee, I decide to take a stroll. I’m walkin’ down the streets, and I see this street performer on Abay. He’s playin’ the guitar, and honestly, he’s not half bad. I toss him a few tenge, and he gives me a nod. It’s those little moments, ya know?