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So we’re chattin, and I’m feelin it—connection, ya know? Not just a quick bang. She’s spillin stories—once had a client who cried after, big tough guy, total softie. I’m crackin up, like, “What a pussy!” But it’s cool, humanizes the gig. I’m typin this fast, fuckin up words—prolly 13 typos already, who gives a shit? Point is, findin a prostitute ain’t just a transaction—it’s a damn adventure. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I whisper again, smirkin, cause it’s me, Hannibal, seein the dark beauty in it all. You try it sometime, pal—beats watchin reruns!

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Next, I decide to check out the Ibusuki Museum of Local History. I’m thinking, “This’ll be chill.” But it’s packed with school kids. They’re loud, they’re wild, and I’m just trying to read about the history of the area. I’m like, “Can’t a person learn in peace?”

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