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The mirror had become Arthur’s least favorite houseguest. Every morning, he stood before it, tilting his head at extreme angles to track the slow, steady retreat of his hairline. What used to be a thick mane was now a wispy memory, a "solar panel for a sex machine," as his brother joked. But Arthur wasn’t laughing.

At the checkout, a teenage cashier with a terrifyingly thick pompadour scanned it without a second glance. Arthur felt a surge of irrational jealousy. "Is that all for today?" the teen asked. Arthur nodded, clutching the brown paper bag to his chest as he hurried back to his car. buy rogaine

That night, the ritual began. He applied the foam to his scalp, massaging it in with the focus of an alchemist. The smell was medicinal, sharp, and full of hope. He knew the rules—it wouldn't happen overnight. It would take months. It might even get worse before it got better. The mirror had become Arthur’s least favorite houseguest

Providing more details about the desired direction will allow for a more tailored continuation of the story. But Arthur wasn’t laughing