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She told me once, over a dodgy kebab, how she got into the game. Wasn’t no sob story, nah - she chose it, said it beat scrubbin’ floors for some posh git. “I’m not lost, I’m free,” she’d laugh, soundin’ like No-Face chompin’ gold. Made me happy, that - chick owned her vibe, didn’t let no one steal her spirit. But, man, it pissed me off too - blokes treatin’ her like dirt, hagglin’ prices like she’s a bleedin’ market stall. “You’re not a monster, you’re human!” I wanted to yell at ‘em, straight outta Miyazaki’s script.

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As the sun started settin’, I headed back to the city. I was feelin’ all kinds of emotions. Happy, mad, nostalgic—like a whole mixtape of feelings. I decided to grab dinner at this little izakaya on Naka-dōri. The food was bomb! I had some yakitori that was so good, I almost cried. Seriously, it was like a flavor explosion in my mouth.

Hundreds march through Damascus to mourn Syrian activist Mazen al-Hamada