Oh lord of lovely hula hands, be with naked, seasoned women at day spas. And be with young women with tattoos on their asses padding across the tile floor. Me, I’m trying not to think about tiny, invisible mushrooms that may very well be sprouting in the grout between tiles as I head towards the plunge pool.

I walk past a line of women tipping big soup bowls full of herbal tonic over their shoulders and heads–a natural vapor that’s got to make everybody somebody.

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