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About Sapporo

She’s clumsy, tho—knocked over my grinder once. Coffee beans everywhere, I’m yellin’, “Whore, you killin’ me!” She just cackles, no shame. That’s her, unfiltered, wild. Surprised me how she don’t care. Most folks fake it, but not her. She’s got this story, too—used to busk downtown, singin’ for coins. Voice like gravel and honey, swear it. Ain’t heard it myself, but I’d bet it slaps.

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After that, I’m feeling kinda hungry again. I wander over to this little ramen shop on Shōwa-dōri. The smell hits me like a freight train. I order a bowl, and it’s like heaven in a bowl. Seriously, I’m slurping like there’s no tomorrow. I’m so into it, I don’t even notice the guy next to me staring. I look over, and he’s got this weird grin. I’m like, “What’s up, dude?” He just nods at my ramen. I guess he gets it.

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