Scalded, Sanded, And Smeared

This place should come with a warning sticker. You know, like the advisories on the outside of certain compact disc cases: “Explicit content.” A sign that says “Fat, Middle-Aged, Pasty Guys: Beware” would suffice.

Come to think of it, maybe that was what was written on the fading, peeling sign I passed on my way in. Unfortunately, I can’t read Arabic.

It really wouldn’t matter anyway, because right now a large Moroccan man named Absalom is kneeling on my back, trying to elicit a scream from me, or at least a small crack from my spine. Well, he won’t hear a peep — not today, not in front of all these other men. As for my spine, it very well might crack in half soon.

Read more here.