"Time go by so fast, sir."
"Maybe next time you take more
time? Your muscles too strong."
"Mm hmm" was really the only
answer I was capable of at the time. I lay still for a few minutes, actually
unable to move. My wife on the massage table right next to mine asked me if I
was ok.
"Mm hmm."
As we left one of our favorite Back
and Foot Rub (that's actually the name of the place) spots in Little
Italy (185 Mulberry St, NYC), I asked Bobby how much he weighed.
"About 200 pounds sir."
"Hmm…(Jesus...I thought). Felt good!" I lied.
Although a small part of me still
thought Bobby was indeed trying to destroy me and simply ran out of time, I was
already grateful for his particularly strong hands which I swear sometimes felt
as if he were using only to push hidden blunt instruments of torture into my
flesh. Everywhere this man put his hands on me he managed to generate a sharp,
penetrating pain; the tips of my toes, the topside of my feet, my calves, what
I think was my gall bladder. It is a pain, however, that eventually opened the
door to deeply relaxed muscles. Nothing like a deep tissue massage from a guy
who knows what he's doing but may also be trying to end you.
So. Freakin'. Good.
So don't go to Back and Foot Rub (185 Mulberry St, NYC) and ask
for Bobby unless you actually want a
deep tissue massage that feels a little bit like a medieval torture device, but
worth every penny. Do not even think about visiting Rice to Riches (37
Spring St. NYC), particularly if you love rice pudding. That way you will not
have the near out-of-body experience that is the exquisite taste of their rice
pudding selections. You will also not have to marvel at the fact that non-latinos actually improved upon something so seemingly Latino. Touché, non-latinos. It's so
good it actually makes me mad, but I write that between carefully guided,
heaping spoonfuls of "Category 5 Caramel" combined with
"Man-Made Mascarpone" into my big fat mouth. And applying a fresh ice
pack to my neck.
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