It's about three p.m. and I'm in a small town midway home, drinking half of white coffee (I forgot these people don't know me and don't know I disdain the foam on my drink, as once you've taken it off, the cup is about two thirds empty. That's not pessimism, that's a physical fact.) and eating basil ice-cream. The owner of the cafe is ruining it for me, I hate that ugly cunt, she treated me like shit when I was working for her, but she won't remember me and I am doing my best to ignore bad things lately. 

We had an extended family reunion lunch on the Sunday and although it was lovely, I kept getting more and more depressed and I couldn't understand why. There was no reason, I just kept feeling bad. Only later did the General admit that the cook who's been preparing our food had a death in the family - her mother died right that day - and fuck me but that theory how emotions translate into food is super true. I am not a hocus pocus yoga guru bullshit kind of a person, but seriously - it took me two days to get out of that melancholy daze.

Anyways. I made some money yesterday and wanted to treat myself to diabetes. It's not that it's been a long day, it's just that I enjoy living this life to the max. I sure hope that the parking spot isn't on a meter. It didn't used to be and I didn't check. That would kind of ruin the basil ice-cream's otherwise sublime taste.

An hour ago I was shooting softcore promos for a massage studio in the industrial zone where Tinka also has her shop. The madam of the salon kept ogling us when we shot the pastry until finally we gained the courage - me to ask for an interview and she for a photographer. I thought the interview was going to be different, so I didn't charge her anything at all. Didn't think it was going to be a graphic shoot, either. Regarding the first, I have read way too much Marquez and think all ladies of the sensual trade are interesting and cool, and regarding the latter... I tend to think I am good at my job and understand photography, but apparently, I have a lot to learn. To portray an invitation to sensuality, a lure, a mystique, a promise of pleasure ... is obviously not as important as photographing a groin. You really have to be a special kind of a nerd not to get turned on in a house of pleasure. 

Thing is, the madam also offered me a session - the use of a 'Paradise room', where you can enjoy a lush yakuzzi, cool champagne, a large bed and if added to the experience, a young woman to assist with ... the massage. To get the General to come to such a place is a no no. To get me to pretend I haven't met these girls... Is difficult. Don't get me wrong, I am all for threesomes and girl on girl action, but I have to like the girl. There are several women I would love to bed, even in a threesome, even in a yakuzzi... Not these. Nice girls and all, cute and all, just ... I like to keep my brain on while I have fun. Turned on. 

This is the first time that anyone has ever asked me to shoot more like another photographer whose work I've always considered degrading and gruesome - and I had to use all of my considerable imagination to see what a witless horny man would find inviting. Yesterday, during the interview, a customer walked in and asked for a girl with large fake breasts, young and slender and blonde and if her lips are real or not. They were not, so that was a good thing. Considering that this form of massage requires the lady to use her whole body on the man, how do you really enjoy such a contact with someone with big fake boobs? I've no idea. Like I said. I am ever grateful for my imagination the size of a big fake boob or even bigger.