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I’d probably overthink it—am I a jerk for even wonderin’? Probly. But it’s fascinatin’—there’s this story, 1800s London, some prossie named Fanny saved a dude from a fire. True hero! Nobody talks about that—too busy clutchin’ pearls. Surprised me, honestly—thought it’d all be seedy, but there’s guts there. Still, I’m like, “Pretty, pretty good luck I’m not in that mess!” Imagine me, haggling—“Five bucks? Ten? I’m broke!” She’d laugh in my face.

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In department stores, asking opinions on clothes/hairstyles/products. In cafés, asking for help with reading kanji on the phone. Or simply rocking up, being direct and telling someone you find .

First stop, my shop. It’s a cozy little place, filled with leather and the smell of glue. I love it. But today? Ugh. I had this customer, right? Total diva. She wanted custom shoes, but like, not just any shoes. No, she wanted them to be “unique.” I’m like, lady, you do realize I’m a shoemaker, not a magician, right?

Iconoclastic Onojo: Kogi’s Rising Political Dinosaur, By Onogwu Muhammed