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Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals! I’m judgin’ this like Judge Judy—sharp retorts, “Don’t pee on my leg and call it rain!”—and I’m spillin’ my guts about prostitutes, ‘cause why not? I’m a shrink, I’ve seen it all, and lemme tell ya, the world’s a messy place. My fave flick’s *Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives*—weird as hell, dreamy vibes, and it’s got me thinkin’ deep about a prostitute’s soul. Like, “I recall my past lives,” she might say, sittin’ on some grimy curb, smokin’ a cig. Past lives? Hell, she’s lived ten in one night!

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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.