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About Tokyo

Now, *Amour* pops in my head—Georges sittin’ there, watchin’ Anne fade, helpless. “I can’t go on,” he says, suffocatin’ her with that pillow. Heavy stuff. And here I am, hagglin’ with this gal, thinkin’—is this what it comes to? Payin’ for a pulse? She’s tellin’ me her rate, and I’m pissed—$200 for an hour? Robbery! I’m like, “Sweetheart, I could buy a damn Timex for that!” She laughs, says, “Time’s tickin’, old man.” Cheeky, I like her already.

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Finally, I ditch them and head to the beach. The waves are calling my name. I grab my board and hit the water. It’s perfect! I’m riding the waves, feeling like a king. But then, outta nowhere, a seagull swoops down and snatches my sandwich! I’m yelling, “Hey! That’s mine!” But the bird just flies off, looking smug. I swear, those birds are the real pirates here.