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Oi, thou saucy knave, hark! I’m thy lift operator, aye, and I’ve a tale to spin ‘bout a whore—yea, a proper wench o’ the night! Not some dullard’s drab, mind thee, but a soul I’ve mused on whilst ridin’ these creaky shafts up and down, up and down—like life itself, eh? Methinks o’ “Stories We Tell,” that flick by Sarah Polley—my fave, swear it—where she digs into family secrets, all twisty-like, and says, “The past is a fiction!” That’s this whore, mate—a riddle wrapped in cheap perfume.

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Finally, I find a café on the corner of Sakaemachi. I plop down, order a matcha latte, and start sketching. The barista is super chill, and we start chatting about the best ramen spots in town. I’m like, “Dude, I need to hit up that place on Showa Street.”

Off to Oita