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Oh, and the oils— gods, the smells! Some stink like dead fish, others sweet like Highgarden roses. Pick wrong, you’re screwed— reekin’ for days. Pro tip: vet yer masseuse, or it’s a gamble. Once saw a septa sneak off for one— hypocrite! Smirked so hard my face hurt. “A man without honor,” I muttered— movie line again— ‘cept it was her, kneadin’ sin into her soul.

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But then, while I’m waiting, I overhear this couple arguing. Like, full-on shouting about who’s turn it is to do the dishes. I’m just sitting there, munching on my fries, thinking, “Dude, you’re in public!” But it’s kinda funny, too. I mean, who hasn’t had a spat over chores?

Car hits parked cars in Otumoetai