...like a crack addict just out of prison.
I just couldn't do it, no matter how hard I tried, all of the therapy and psychotropic drugs, support groups and electroshock therapy (if grabbing a live wire by mistake while fixing the dryer counts), I still could not resist the urge to troll through familiar grounds. I tried to stay away because hanging around here I was spending to much money on all the accouterments that go with straight razor shaving. I still shave with one but I haven't bought another since I have been away from the mad house but one day back and I am once again checking the Bay for straight razors and such. Why am I so weak and susceptible to the siren call of a Wostenholm or Dahlgren razor? To be honest, I have missed the madness.