Anxiety is the language of life for businessmen like me. Sometimes, though, it does us well to have something that mutes it, dulls it, for a whole day. My first massage was at JFK Airport, in a little store by the bookshop called the Gold Dragon. Wearing most of my Starbucks mocha, and with two hours before my London flight, I thought a massage couldn’t hurt.
As soon as a nice little lady named Ling lit cinnamon incense per my request and started kneading the muscles in my back and shoulders, I knew somehow that the rest of the day was going to be all right. Joints were popped and tendons released of tension. Half an hour later, I left the Gold Dragon a changed man, relaxed and with half a mind to try a London massage, as well. Maybe twelve hours in the air would altogether improve the experience.