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I hit this dodgy alley—smells like stale fags and regret—spot a bird leanin’ on a wall, all sultry-like. “Groovy, baby!” I say, flashin’ me pearly whites. She’s givin’ me the eye, and I’m thinkin’, “This is it, the kill shot!”—straight outta Zero Dark Thirty, y’know? But then—bam!—some geezer stumbles out, drunk as a skunk, yellin’, “Oi, she’s mine!” Made me mad as a wet hen—nearly lost me cool, mate! I’m like, “Cool it, daddy-o, plenty of fish in the sea!”

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But then, I overhear this group of tourists. They’re butchering the local language. I can’t help it—I have to step in. “Yo, you gotta roll your ‘r’s like this!” I demonstrate, and they look at me like I’m a weirdo. Whatever, I’m just trying to help!

Uso Fujishiro’s One-Man Exhibit “Charactronica” to Open on July 13