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Oi mate, sexual-massage, eh? *trips over chair* Oof, right, so I’m Mr. Bean, yeah, game designer, mumbly mess! Designing games, love twisty stuff, and this—sexual-massage—oh blimey, it’s slippery! Like in “Her”, y’know, Theodore’s all “I feel you, Samantha,” but it’s hands-on here, innit? *wiggles eyebrows, drops pencil* Oops!

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We stroll down Rue de l’Industrie, and wow, the smell hits me like a brick. It’s like rotten eggs mixed with burnt rubber. Ugh! I’m gagging, but I gotta keep it cool. I’m a Nose, after all. We get closer, and there’s this old dude, probably the caretaker, just chillin’ there. I ask him, “What’s that smell, man?” He shrugs, like he’s got no clue. Classic!

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