Accosted on the street by a man who wants to give me a massage, I pause for long enough for him to give me his spiel. He has a big smile, tanned skin and grey hair with a moustache to match. He is wearing opaque-rimmed sunglasses. The lenses are only slightly tinted.
He is offering a fifty-minute massage for only thirty-nine dollars but I am in a rush. He gives me a leaflet and I say I will think of him if I find myself tense during the week. I ask my question. He gives me an answer and asks for mine in return. I tell him. 'What? Were your parents some kind of hippies?' he asks. 'Not really', I reply.
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