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Oh, and the oils—smelly stuff, lavender or some crap. S’posed to relax ya, but me? Me’s sneezin’ like a troll with a cold! “What’s that smell?!” I shrieked—ruined the mood, it did. Mate, if ya get one, tell ‘em no stinky shite, just hands, yeah? Keep it simple, or ya’ll end up like me—itchin’ and bitchin’.

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I’ll also drop a word on Lago Igapó. It’s a shimmering ribbon of water winding through Londrina, reflecting sunsets like a magic mirror. I once sat there, mesmerized, when a couple made up right before my eyes—real, raw reconciliation. You know, stuff that makes your heart sing, like a scene straight outta Spring Breakers, wild and out-of-control but with a hint of poetic beauty.

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