The hue of blue from the neon screen of my laptop washes me over like water as my eyes squint open. Crumpled in front of me are sheets of scribbled paper and crushed Red Bull cans. The ash of cigarettes seem to be littered everywhere like the aftermath of some sub-nuclear explosion. The right side of my face is flat to resemble the cold hard desk where it probably has rested for the last 2 hours or so. I must have fallen asleep in front of the computer again trying to hack into Charlie’s FaceBook account.
What hurts most is my back, bent out of shape from the weird position I have been sleeping in, face down on my desk on a sofa chair it feels like a troupe of river dancers have performed live on my back as the main stage. My spine feels like a jagged sword thrust into my upper abdomen. The pain is agonizing and debilitating. I hop around like Quasimodo from Notre Dam before I realize the severity of the situation. Some serious damage must have happened here and I need to do something quick.
I rummage in my desk for the card I was given in a situation like this. Mr. Hallbrook the Masseur. Also known as Magic Hands Hall, the most renowned masseur this side of the Yarra River. Legend says that he used to work as a strongman in a freak carnival bending steel into knots before he turned into this line of work and started helping the pained and easing the backs of the thousands that he touched. The Turk gave me his card after Mr. Hallbrook repaired his knee problem after that bike riding incident involving the flock of ducks in Pakenham.
Reluctant for a second, the spasm of pure agony that goes down my spine sends me frantically calling him. 20 minutes later and there is a polite knock on the door and a small cough. I crawl to the door and open it only to reveal the biggest man I have ever seen in my life; his palms could easily encircle my entire head. Looking down on me like I am some vile specimen he introduces himself as Mr. Hallbrook. He is holding a Myspine Portable Massage Table that he duly unfolds in my living room.
He beckons me to the massage table with his giant arms of destiny. Having no choice but to obey I hop on the table and allow him to put his God like hands to my back. The massage bed feels good and the Mr. Hallbrook is a magician, his hands work on me like I am clay. He shapes, cajoles, teases my back into normality and the sudden loss of pain is like sweet bliss being rubbed into me. The relief washes over me like a cool breeze and my spine is eased back into place with the power of an angel.
After he is done he folds up his massage equipment and after getting paid strolls out of my house to no doubt spread more back easing care to the world. With equipment and skills like that it’s no wonder they call him Magic Hands Hall.
My back can only agree.