The day I took a bath, my friends in trouble changed their relationship.

When the bathing master closed in the late-night bathhouse and the high-choice goddess suddenly pushed in, wearing a wet white shirt, and her makeup was so delicate and her eyes so frightful, she said that she had a conflict with her client, that he needed to avoid the need for him to get her to leave, but she pulled her wrist while cleaning the steam pipe, and she pulled her wrists in her ear, and the goddess snuggled her finger over his chest, and he didn't mean to blow his fingers, breathed against his damp walls, and the goddess dared to untangle the Lord's foam-filled work clothes, to sort out the horns of his shirt, to look directly into his eyes, and the old lord began to burn, and the goddess turned from strong to soft, and the bathing was working.