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About Newcastle

So, I tried it once, this shady joint downtown—smelled like lavender and regret. This chick, she’s kneadin’ me like dough, and I’m thinkin’, “Wow, this beats haulin’ fish guts!” Little known fact: back in ancient Rome, they’d rub ya down with olive oil—fancy, right? Prolly stank like a salad, tho. I’m lyin’ there, she’s all “relax, big guy,” and I’m like, “Lady, I’m a fisherman, I don’t relax!” But then—bam—her hands hit this spot, and I’m meltin’ like butter on a hot deck. “The body tides,” like in the movie, pullin’ me under—pure bliss, I’m tellin’ ya.

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I bump into a mate from the old days, Dave. He’s a fisherman, always has a story. He’s like, “You hear about the body?” I’m like, “Yeah, mate, I’m not in the mood.” But he goes on about how it’s probably just some drunk who fell in. I mean, I hope so, but still.

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