You enter the shop, mostly to get out of the hot, humid summer air. Your first trip to San Francisco, and the weather is setting records for both the high temperatures and the level of humidity... it figures!
Removing your sunglasses and moping the moisture from your brow you look around. Row upon row of shelves, filled with all manner of jars, bottles, and other containers meets your eyes. Despite the lack of any apparent air conditioner, the air is cool, and many an odd fragrance meets your nose.
Looking at the rather bewildering array of goods-- many not labeled in English-- you are surprised when someone speaks directly behind you.
"May I help you, young man?"
Turning, you see a white haired, elderly oriental man, dressed in either silk robes or a silk bathrobe, it is difficult to tell in the store's dim lighting. He is skinny, almost twig like, and stares up at you (even though you are decidedly average in height) with tired looking eyes.
It has been years, too many years, since anyone called you "young man". Then again, compared to the shop keeper, you suppose you are young...
"Well, I am mostly just looking," you start, then, seeing how the store is deserted, you feel a bit sorry for him. "I don't suppose you have anything to help me get rid of this fat, do you?"
You pinch a roll of the flab which has settled stubbornly around you mid section over the years. Dieting and exercising only seem to make it shrink slightly for a short while, then return with a vengeance-- along with new pounds of fat.
"Ah, you are feeling old and fat, then?" the man asks, managing to make it sound like an honest question, rather than an accusation. He studies you, looking from your feet to your head and back down to your feet.
"Yeah, if you can do anything about it, I would be really grateful," you answer, deciding to play along for the moment.
"I have just the thing!" he answers happily, shuffling off down one aisle. He beckons to you. "Please, please follow me!"
Now curious, you follow him further into the dimly lit shop. Even more curious containers meet your eye-- a bottle shaped like a dragon, with a cork in its mouth. A cut glass bottle holding a clear, dimly glowing blue fluid. A painted metal tin, with somehow disturbing, obscene images...
"Ah yes! Here we are!" the old man announces triumphantly, pulling a paper wrapped cylinder from a shelf, seemingly at random. The paper is old and yellowed, with a faded red and yellow geometric design, faded black oriental writing covers the paper. "This is exactly what you need! I can translate the instructions for you."
"Uhm, thanks," you say, as he presses the container into your hands. You look at it uncertainly. "How much does it cost?"
"Not much!" he declares, already heading for a counter on which sets an old, brass cash register. "Only U.S. $9.95, plus tax."
You then...