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Hey, pal, so you’re askin’ me—me, Larry King, the watchmaker now, huh?—what I think about findin’ a prostitute? Slow down, let’s chew this over. I’m sittin’ here, tick-tock, gears in my head spinnin’, thinkin’ ‘bout *Amour*, that movie—love, death, the slow grind of it all. Georges and Anne, man, they stuck with me. “You’re hands are cold,” she says in that flick, and I’m thinkin’, what’s colder than payin’ for a night, huh? Curious thing, this hustle—findin’ a prostitute ain’t just a transaction, it’s a story, a messy one.

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I'm flourishing in Shirakawa and find-a-prostitute is splendid! You bring out the wild side in me. I find comfort in both French Kissing and Cunnilingus (give).

I plopped down on my couch, ready to edit. But my brain was still buzzing from the day. I couldn’t focus. I just kept thinking about that bike guy, the litterer, and the old lady. Tsubata’s got its quirks, for sure.

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