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Now, don’t get me wrong, it ain’t all perfect. Some places—sketchy as hell, dim lights, weird smells. One time, lady’s like, “You want happy end?” I’m thinkin’, “Dis ain’t *Hurt Locker*, no explosions here!” Laughed my ass off, tho—humor in da awkwardness, ya feel me? Oh, and da typos? Bah, who cares—erotic-massage don’t need grammar, just guts!

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But then, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from a client. They’re freaking out about their order. “Where’s my coat?” they say. I’m like, “Chill, it’s coming!” But they’re not having it. I’m getting stressed, and my sewing machine starts acting up. It’s like it knows I’m in a panic. I’m yelling at it, “C’mon, don’t fail me now!”

I wasn't an accomplished rider and fell off my bike 50 metres in, but I've just finished a 16,250 mile cycle