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So, I swagger up, all charm, “What’s yer price, love?” She laughs—proper cackle—says, “More’n you got, trickster.” Cheeky! I’m half mad, half lovin’ it—nobody talks to *me* like that. Didja know, back in Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves”? Fancy, eh? Makes it sound poetic, not dodgy. Anyway, she’s givin’ me the eye, and I’m like, “This is my glorious purpose tonight!”—bit dramatic, sure, but I’m Loki, I live for it.

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So, I’m trying to find a quiet spot, and I finally do. I plop down on a bench, and boom! A pigeon decides my lap is the perfect landing pad. Ugh! I freaked out, flailed my arms, and the thing just looked at me like, “What’s your problem, dude?” I mean, come on!

Masa Ishikawa returning to region for two jazz concerts