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About Logan City

I’m drivin’, thinkin’, *man, this is dumb*. “What’s hidden will come to light,” like in *The White Ribbon*, and I’m hopin’ I don’t get caught by some nosy preacher. Last thing I need is Sheriff Bubba haulin’ me in—talk about a buzzkill! I finally spot this gal, right? She’s leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’ a cig, lookin’ like she’s bored outta her skull. I roll up, all nervous-like, and she’s like, “What you want, sugar?” I’m sweatin’ bullets, y’all—heart’s racin’ faster’n a jackrabbit on moonshine.

Navigating Sapporo as a Foreigner

Some days, I sit on a bench, thinkin' of those lively nights, heated debates on curbside benches, and the way a single streetlamp on Lantern Lane makes everything look dramatic like “Moulin Rouge!”—sparkling and raw. Sometimes I wonder, can life always be this wild? But then, haha, I grab my kit and back to work, massaging and mending tired muscles, whispering “Lightbulb!” as I crack a joke.

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