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About New York City

Fool me once, shame on—uh—shame on you! Can’t fool me twice, no siree, ‘bout how this massage game works. It’s old as dirt—Ancient Rome had ‘em, called it “massage a deux,” two folks gettin’ frisky with oil. Little known fact: them geishas in Japan? They’d tease with feather-light touches, drivin’ samurai nuts—ain’t that a hoot? Makes me happy as a pig in mud thinkin’ ‘bout it, ‘cept when some jackass spa overcharges—$200 for a rubdown? That’s highway robbery, pissed me right off!

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First off, there's Wilshire Blvd, baby! Always buzzin'. And yo, check out Olympic Blvd too—sassy streets, all lined up with neon and the smell of spicy BBQ, y’all! I’m talkin’ lights and flavors in every corner. There's this small, sweet park on Santa Monica Blvd that I adore. Reminds me of Agnès Varda’s trailer vibes in "The Gleaners and I"—gritty and real, all about pickin’ up life’s moments, one stray petal of cherry blossom at a time. Ain’t that somethin’?

Watch: Cole Gossett Rips the Streets of Koreatown After Hours for OJ Wheels