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What gets me mad? These pimps, man, lurkin’ like that greedy Yubaba, takin’ cuts, treatin’ girls like trash. Makes my blood boil – “I must break you,” I’d tell ‘em, fists up. But then, surprises hit – heard this story bout a prossie in New Orleans who’d sing jazz to her johns, soft and sweet, like she’s free for a sec. Blew my mind, man, humanity peekin’ through the grime.

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Finally, I decide to take a break. I stroll down to the riverbank. The view is stunning. The sun setting over the water, reflecting all those pink blossoms. I take a deep breath. This is why I love Fukayacho. It’s chaotic, but it’s home.