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Oi mate, lemme tell ya bout whores, right, in me best David Attenborough voice—calm, rhythmic, like I’m narratin a bloody gazelle prancin thru the wild. Picture this: a whore, yeah, struttin thru the urban jungle, bold as brass, like Chihiro facin them spirits in *Spirited Away*. “I’m not afraid of you!” she’d yell, tossin her hair back, fearless, untamed. Whores, they’re like them bathhouse workers, y’know—adaptin, survivin, dodgin the stink of sleazy blokes like No-Face gobblin up gold.

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But then, the day took a turn. I was walking back to the station when I saw a stray dog. Poor thing looked so sad. I couldn’t just walk by. So, I sat down next to it, gave it some of my yakitori. It gobbled it up like it hadn’t eaten in days. I felt a mix of happiness and sadness.