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Oh, and get this – back in Tsar times, they had “yellow tickets” for ‘em. Legal whores, state-stamped! Wild, eh? Surprised me, that did. History’s got its own smutty fingerprints. “Words betray us,” Godard’d say, and these girls, they’re livin’ proof – silent screams in neon lights. We hates it! Makes me wanna smash somethin’, but then – ooh, tea’s ready, gotta sip, calms the nerves.

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So, I’m sippin’ my coffee, and boom! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy Kenji. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta check out the festival at Nirasaki Park!” I’m like, “What festival?” Turns out, it’s some cherry blossom thing. I mean, it’s late October, but who am I to question the universe?

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