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Got angry, tho—some geezer tried cuttin’ in, all “oi, she’s mine!”—*shakes fist, stumbles*—nearly lamped him, but I’m Mr. Bean, not Mike Tyson! Happy bit? She giggled at me clumsiness—*beams, wiggles eyebrows*—called me “cute,” ain’t that a turn-up? Surprised me, too—didn’t think prossies’d be so… chatty? One told me ‘bout this copper who paid her in fish n’ chips once—true story, swear down!

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Then, while I’m on the line, I hear this loud crash outside. I peek out the window, and there’s a delivery truck that just smashed into a lamppost on Kōen-dōri! Like, what the heck? I’m half tempted to run out there and give the driver a piece of my mind. But nah, I gotta stay on the phone. So, I’m like, “Ma’am, can you check under your bed?” I mean, where else would a cat named Ninja hide?

The DOWNTOWN Report: mid-June 2024