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So I walk up, all cool, like, “Yo, what’s good?” She smirks, says somethin’ sassy—prolly calls me “sugar” or some shit. I’m laughin’, thinkin’, “This chick’s a trip!” Reminds me of Joe dancin’ with them dames—smooth as fuck. But here’s the kicker—turns out she’s got a fake leg, right? Peg leg hooker, motherfucker! Swear to God, blew my damn mind. I’m like, “That’s some next-level texture right there!” Scratches, dents—shit I’d kill to model in 3D. She catches me starin’, goes, “What, you into prosthetics, freak?” I’m dyin’, man—humor’s dark as hell.

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Then, I met up with my buddy Kenji. We hit up this little izakaya on Kiyokawa Street. Best place ever! We ordered way too much food. I mean, who needs that many edamame? But it was all good. We were laughing, talking about life, and then—bam!—the power went out. Like, seriously? In the middle of our feast?

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