The narrator moves through a post-breakup haze where every woman becomes interchangeable scenery. What passes for emotional processing here is a rotation of bodies, explicit sizing-up, and the quiet insistence that none of it sticks. Vulnerability flickers for half a second before getting buried under graphic conquest. The message is clear: feeling something real is the threat, and the antidote is treating people like disposable entertainment.

You hear these words and they hand you a blueprint for staying numb on purpose. If you've ever used someone else's body to avoid sitting with your own grief, this will feel familiar in a way that flatters the worst version of you. The explicitness isn't the problem; the problem is how casually it replaces every human being with a function. Anyone who's been on the receiving end of that math will recognize it instantly and feel nothing warm.