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So, I’d strut in, smirkin, eyein the joints—literally, the woodwork’s shite! Splinters everywhere, probly from some cheap arse pine. Makes me mad, coz I’d craft somethin sturdier, godly even. “I’m burdened,” I’d mutter, dodgin a wobbly chair. Them girls tho, tough as nails, laughin at the johns—makes me grin. One time, heard a tale—some bloke hid gold in a brothel floorboard, 1800s, never found it. True? Dunno, but I’d rip that floor up, mischief calls!

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Then, I get a call from my mom. She’s in Numata too, visiting some shrine. She’s all excited, telling me about the beautiful cherry blossoms at the Numata Park. I’m like, “Mom, I’m stuck in the office!” But she’s so happy, I can’t help but smile.

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