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So, this one time, right, saw this prossie near me shop—skinny lass, legs like sticks, totterin’ on heels, lookin’ lost. Made me mad, precious, mad! Not at her, nah, at the world—why’s she there, eh? Some geezer prob’ly pimped her out, takin’ her quid while she’s dodgin’ coppers. We hates it! “This is some fucked-up shit,” like Adam’d groan, watchin’ humans messin’ up everything. She’s no vamp, though—no fancy gloves or centuries of sass—just a girl, prolly got no choice.

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So, I woke up late, as usual. Alarm? Nah, who needs that? I rolled outta bed, threw on some clothes, and bolted out the door. The streets were buzzing, like always. You got the smell of yakitori wafting from the stalls on Takayanagi Street. I swear, that stuff is like crack for my taste buds.