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About Tokyo

I knew this one gal—let’s call her Tammy. Met her down in N’awlins, swear to God, she was a firecracker! Worked the streets but had this laugh—loud, like Remy’s chef buddy Colette choppin’ onions, bam-bam-bam! She told me once, “Sugar, I’m just tryna eat.” Broke my dang heart. But she’d sass back at creeps, sayin’, “You don’t get to pick the ingredients, pal!” Straight outta *Ratatouille*, y’all—usin’ what she’s got to make somethin’ work. Made me chuckle, too—girl had spunk!

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Then, I get a call. It’s my next client, and they’re at the Shimotsuke Cultural Center. I’m like, “Great, more interpreting!” So, I rush over, and guess what? It’s a dance workshop. I’m not a dancer, but I’m signing like I’m in a dance-off. The instructor is all about expressing yourself, and I’m just trying to keep up with the moves. I’m flailing my arms, and the participants are cracking up. I’m like, “Yeah, I meant to do that!”

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