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So, thou, what sayest? Fancy a go? ‘Tis a craft, a spell—makes thee feel alive, yet soft as a lamb. Pisses me off when folk call it dirty—‘tis art, damn it! Exaggeratin’? Mayhap, but when them fingers find thy knots, thou’lt sing hallelujahs too! Go on, treat thyself—tell ‘em Grok sent thee, ha!

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Finally, I get it sorted. Patient comes in, and it’s this sweet old lady from Rue de la Paix. She’s got the biggest smile, and I’m like, “Aww, this is why I do this.” We chat about her grandkids, and I forget all the stress. But then, she drops a bomb. “I need a new denture, dear.” My heart sinks. I just fixed her last week!

Great Escapes: The History and Charm of Old Quebec