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But then—ugh, this knobhead rolls up, all loud, “Oi, how much, love?”—an I’m ragin. Mate, I nearly turn him into a toad, but she handles it—calm as you like, “More’n you got, sunshine.” He shuffles off, tail between legs. I’m cheerin inside—surprised me, she did. Proper *Moolaadé* energy—“We will not be slaves!”—she’s no victim, this one. Got her own code, her own hustle. Makes me think, y’know? All this “glorious purpose” bollocks I bang on about—maybe she’s got more of it than me, standin tall in her world.

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So, I drop my coffee and we head over. The streets are packed! I’m talkin’ about people everywhere, like sardines in a can. The smell of yakitori fills the air. I’m droolin’ just thinkin’ about it. But then, I see this guy tryin’ to juggle some mochi. Spoiler alert: he drops it. Right on my shoe! Ugh, I was so mad! Like, c’mon man, watch where you’re throwin’ that stuff!

Hot-Spring Cures for All | February 2018 | Highlighting Japan