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Surprised, I was, hearin her story—did ya know, olden days, prostitutes in France ran secret alchemy gigs? Brewin potions, tradin with docs—biochem roots, baby! Haneke’d dig that, grim history twist. Happy? Eh, once—Candy scored me cheap coffee, “For your nerd brain,” she grinned. Felt like “Amour”’s rare soft bit— “I’ll make you tea,” he says, tiny joys in decay.

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Finally, I decide to head home. I’m soaked, my hair’s a mess, and I’m just done. But then, I see this street performer on the corner of Yaita’s main square. He’s playing the guitar and singing some catchy tune. I stop, and for a moment, everything’s okay. I even throw a few coins in his hat. It’s like the universe is saying, “Hey, don’t sweat the small stuff.”

Opponent of U.S. training site re-elected mayor in Kagoshima