Desperate for the Spa

I want a massage.  Desperately.  Passionately.  I find myself forcing my back into other people’s capable hands.  It never is enough.  I feel like this is somewhere along the scale of a heroin addict’s addiction strength.  I am poor however, and begging along the corner of University and Center in Provo would probably only engender some fairly alarming experiences.  I don’t know if there are any honest folk who would rub a random female’s shoulders.

I have stopped caring even about whether or not it’s appropriate to ask for a massage from someone.  I’ll ask just about anybody.  (I have yet to ask a professor or other authority figure.  This may not last for long.)  There are many blessed souls who are willing to help me out, but it’s such a temporary fix.  My neck puts out more knots than can be undone.

Perhaps I will find a hundred dollar bill lying next to a vending machine and with it, I will go bonkers and get a wicked massage.  A wicked massage.



About Kendal

Just a girl.
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