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Me, I’d be terrible at it—too loud, too nosy, prob’ly askin’, “Whatcha need me for, sugar?” But dang, the cash? Temptin’. Some escorts pull in thouands—yep, typo, meant thousands—in a night! Little known fact: back in the ‘20s, they called ‘em “taxi dancers”—you paid per dance, like an escort lite. History’s wild, y’all. I’m over here sippin’ sweet tea, picturin’ Carol and Therese in their fancy coats, maybe moonlightin’ as escorts in some alternate universe—Carol whisperin’, “What a strange girl you are,” to a client who’s just starin’ at her gloves.

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First off, I hit up the local café on Chigasaki’s main drag, Chigasaki Kaigan. You know, the one with the cute barista who always gives me extra foam? Yeah, that one. I order my usual—matcha latte, extra sweet. But guess what? They mess it up! I get a black coffee instead. Like, seriously? Who drinks that bitter stuff? I’m already fuming, but whatever, I chug it down. Gotta fuel up for the day, right?

Japanese manicurist takes on plastic pollution, one nail at a time