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Funniest thing? Once heard a story—some john left a prostitute a *forklift* as a tip. Swear to God! She sold it, made bank. Anyway, I peel out, yellin’, “Stay outta trouble, doll!” She yells back, “Too late!” Classic. Drivin’ off, I’m thinkin’, “Hell, that was better than a movie.” *“Here’s Johnny!”*—and I’m gone, grin still plastered on.

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www.facebook.com will allow you to view the massage parlors in your area. Most actual websites for ordering one up have been taken down lately. That’s your best bet. Willing to bet if you fire up .

Ah, my dear, listen up. Moorslede is a curious damn place. I’ve been here for years, shtum in my little massage joint off Molenstraat. It’s a town that grinds you down, yet you learn its secrets. Naughty, full of quirks, kinda like me. I stroll down Kasteelstraat, where old stones murmur like ghosts. Yeah, ghosts of massages past… you never know what you’ll find behind every locked door.

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