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So escort, right—people think it’s all glitz, cash flowin’, champagne poppin’. But lemme tell ya, it ain’t that simple! Some billionaire creep—yeah, “Billionaires should not exist!”—pays big bucks for a date, but the escort’s hustlin’, dodgin’ cops, dealin’ with weirdos. I read once—true story—back in the ‘90s, this escort in Vegas got hired by some casino tycoon just to sit in his penthouse and knit! Knit! For six hours! She made bank, but what a nutjob, right? Laughed my ass off hearin’ that—capitalism’s wild, man!

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So, I hit up the local café on Kōen-dōri. Best coffee ever! I mean, I’m no connoisseur, but this stuff was like liquid happiness. I’m sipping my brew, and suddenly, this cat jumps on my table. Like, dude, personal space? I’m not a cat person, but this little furball had some serious attitude. It just stared at me like, “What’s up, human?” I laughed, and the barista, this cool dude named Hiro, just chuckled. He said the cat’s name is Taka. How fitting, right?

Synthesis and Photocatalytic Activity of Poly(triazine imide) - Ham - 2013 - Chemistry – An Asian Journal