My lower back decided to go Republican on me after six months of being a cooperative, bipartisan part of the team. I went back to the torture specialist who took a couple of tokes from his tobacco bong then pinched the hell out of my biceps and armpits, and did some other intense jabbing and poking in various places. I feel all better again. His "office/home" is in one of the old warrens, and is looking like it's slated for demolition soon. I think part of the effectiveness of this treatment is going into the maze that he lives in. There is some old healing karma floating around in there that may get lost when the fancy new apartments go in.