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Oi mate, grab a pint, listen up! Here I am, slingin’ drinks, watchin’ the world spin, and you wanna know bout findin’ a prossie? Hah! Calm as a forest stream, I’ll narrate this like ol’ Dave Attenborough, yeah? Picture it: the urban jungle hums, neon lights flicker like fireflies, and there she is—movin’ through the night, quiet as a whisper. "The way of nature," I mutter, pullin’ a lager, thinkin’ bout *The Tree of Life*. That film, mate—sprawlin’, messy, beautiful, like life itself. "What is this love that loves us?" Malick’s voice echoes in me skull as I spot her leanin’ by the jukebox.

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Finally, I’m heading back to my car, and I’m exhausted. But then I see this little shop on Kōraku-dōri selling matcha ice cream. I can’t resist! I grab a cone, and it’s the best thing ever. I’m sitting on a bench, enjoying my ice cream, and I think, “This city’s not so bad.”

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