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Man, I’m pissed already—fuckin’ hagglin’ like I’m buyin’ a carburetor! Back in ’83, Miami, shit was wild—girls’d jump in your ride for a dime bag. Little known fact, right? Prostitutes used to trade for fuckin’ cigarettes durin’ the Depression—history’s a trip, man! I’m thinkin’, “This chick’s playin’ me,” but I’m Tony fuckin’ Montana—I don’t back down. “Say hello to my little friend!” I yell, flashin’ some cash, and she laughs—fuckin’ laughs! That’s a power move, I respect it.

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Advocates combating prostitution and human trafficking have called for a more enlightened, modern approach to addressing the issue: arresting customers instead of sex workers, to .

But then, the real drama happened. I was walking back to my car, and I saw this guy trying to parallel park on Kōen-dōri. He was struggling hard. I mean, come on, it’s not rocket science! I couldn’t help but laugh. But then, he hit the car next to him. I was like, “Oh no, dude, not cool!” He jumped out, looking all panicked. I just shook my head and kept walking. Not my circus, not my monkeys, ya know?

How to Use Ube, the Healthy, Yummy, Purple Potato