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But—oh ho!—gotta watch out, some places, dodgy as a No-Face offerin’ you gold. Once went to this joint—grubby, smelled like old socks—made me madder than a bag of ferrets! “This is my bathhouse!” I wanted to yell, like Yubaba, but nah, just legged it out. Total shambles. Still, when it’s good, it’s *bloody* good—tension melts, you’re floatin’, happier than a toff at a tax cut. Ever tried it with scented oils? Lavender, mate—smells like Zeniba’s cottage, calms the ol’ bonce right down.

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Next, I’m halfway through Mr. Rossi’s cut when the power goes out. Just my luck, right? Vanzago’s streets are quiet, but inside the shop? Total mayhem. I’m fumbling around for my phone, trying to find a flashlight. Mr. Rossi’s cursing like a sailor. “This is why I hate technology!” he grumbles. I’m thinkin’, “Bro, it’s not my fault the grid’s down!”

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