I work out in the evening.
I go somehow through one of Peter’s sleeping areas, stopping the body of questionable sobriety and provincial appearance.
I: Where are we going?
The body is 24.
I sound the price, the body agrees, let it into the salon and roll onto the prospectus leading to the center. After five minutes, the body grabs and cries:
Stay where I went!

Near the road stands a small anchor with the inscription "wash 24 hours".