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Last week—pissed me off—some dude on X bragged ‘bout “classy escorts.” Classy? Ha! Like lipstick on a pig. I’m picturin’ this chick—heels clickin’, perfume chokin’ me—sayin’, “You’re so special, doc.” Bullshit. Reminds me of *Her*: “I can’t live in your book anymore.” Yeah, lady, I ain’t your fairy tale either. Prostitutes don’t love ya—they clock in, clock out. Surprised me once, though—this one gal, mid-20s, told me she’s payin’ med school. Med school! Swear to God, I nearly hugged her—then remembered the germs.

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Finally, the rain lets up, and I make my way back to my car. I’m exhausted but happy. Rausu, you wild city! You threw me some curveballs, but I wouldn’t trade this day for anything. I mean, who knew a forester could have so much fun in a little coastal town?

Stranded pod of orcas in Japan sea ice appear to have escaped, officials monitor