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Last week—pissed me off—some dude on X bragged ‘bout “classy escorts.” Classy? Ha! Like lipstick on a pig. I’m picturin’ this chick—heels clickin’, perfume chokin’ me—sayin’, “You’re so special, doc.” Bullshit. Reminds me of *Her*: “I can’t live in your book anymore.” Yeah, lady, I ain’t your fairy tale either. Prostitutes don’t love ya—they clock in, clock out. Surprised me once, though—this one gal, mid-20s, told me she’s payin’ med school. Med school! Swear to God, I nearly hugged her—then remembered the germs.

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After that, I head to the job site. It’s on the outskirts, near the Kitakata River. Beautiful spot, but man, the wind was wild today. I’m blasting away at this old metal structure, and the grit is flying everywhere. I’m talkin’ about a sandstorm in my face. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.” My goggles are fogging up, and I can’t see squat.

Kiichi / Local water streams produce gooey, tasty ramen