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So, I’m strollin downtown, hungry – not for liver, ha! – lookin for a hooker. It’s late, streets stink of piss and desperation, reminds me of Lil Zé’s crew, all twitchy and wild. I spot her, leanin on a wall, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “What’s good, darlin?” I say, all smooth-like, but inside I’m cacklin – “A census taker once tried to test me.” She smirks, sizes me up, says, “50 bucks, big boy.” Fifty fuckin bucks! Made me mad, mate, inflation’s a bitch, but I’m like, fine, whatever, let’s roll.

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that area. craigslist recently took down their prostitute page but you can usually Missing: Yaita.

So, I wander over to the Yaita River. It’s pretty, I’ll give it that. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, and I’m like, “Okay, this is nice.” But then, I see this kid throwing rocks into the water. Like, come on, dude! You’re ruining the vibe! I almost yelled, “Hey, Picasso, how about you paint instead?” But I didn’t. I just rolled my eyes and kept walking.

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