If you want to feel like a vengeful but slothful vampire, taking a break before your next gorgeously Bacchanalian slaughter before you go nap in your riad, I suggest you get a poppy flower scrub in Morocco. I wrote this to you in my head while waiting for the poppy flower to settle on my skin, staring at the ceiling that was probably older than America, and was like: damn. My life is improbably excellent right this second.I wish I could share this with my friends. So here I am.