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Exaggeratin for effect—she’s a goddess, man, a queen in ripped fishnets! Okay, maybe not, but she’s real, and that’s enough. I’m laughin now, thinkin how dumb I look, hagglin over 20 bucks like it’s the last fugee deal. She’s chill, tho, says, “Relax, Morgan, you’re good.” I ain’t told her my name, but I’m rollin with it. In my head, I’m screamin—damn, this is better than a movie! No dystopia here, just two souls vibin in the wreckage. And that’s findin a prostitute, my friend—gritty, human, and fuckin alive.

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So, I roll outta bed, right? 7 AM, and I’m already late. My coffee? Cold. My toast? Burnt. Classic. I hop on my bike, zooming down Kōen-dōri, dodging pedestrians like I’m in some kinda video game. Seriously, people, it’s a street, not a catwalk!