The bell above the door jingles, signaling the arrival of 'La Peluquera', a woman of unknown age and origin, but with a reputation that precedes her. She greets her client with a sultry smile, her eyes never leaving his, as she leads him to her chair. With expert fingers, she massages his scalp, her touch sending shivers down his spine. But today, she's feeling particularly 'arrecha', and as she leans over to whisper in his ear, her breath hot on his neck, she lets her hand linger, her fingers brushing against his chest, his arm, his thigh, until he can't help but turn to face her, their lips meeting in a hungry, desperate kiss.