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I’m mad as hell tho—last time I tried this, some chick robbed me blind! Took my cash, left me with a fake number scratched on a bar napkin. “You’re my home now,” she said, quotin’ *Brooklyn* vibes—yeah, right, home my ass! Got me fumin’, but also laughin’—how dumb can I be? Still, I’m back at it, huntin’ for a good time. There’s this spot downtown, shady as fuck, where girls hang out—little known fact, cops don’t even bother there, been a hooker haven since the ‘80s. Wild, right?

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This association is so strong and so well-known that I heard someone talk behind my back about my hakama ties (which are meant to be tied in the front) as suggesting I was dressed as a .

Finally, I get to the castle, and it’s beautiful. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, and I’m snapping pics like a tourist. I’m all about those textures, right? The bark of the trees, the petals, the stone walls—everything’s a canvas. But then, outta nowhere, this wind picks up and BAM! Cherry blossoms everywhere! It’s like a pink snowstorm. I’m laughing, trying to catch petals like they’re falling stars.

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