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Anywho, I find this other chick online—proper fit, yeah? Chat her up, all smooth-like, “Fancy a rendezvous, baby?” She’s game, meets me at this dive bar—neon buzzin’, vibes screamin’ ‘60s. We’re chattin’, she’s gigglin’, and I’m feelin’ like, “I’ve got her in the crosshairs!”—movie moment, baby! But—plot twist—she’s an undercover copper! Nearly shat meself, swear down! “Abort mission!” I’m yellin’ in me head, but I play it cool, “Cheers, luv, gotta jet!”

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First off, I hit up the local konbini on Kōen-dōri for breakfast. Grabbed some onigiri and a can of that sweet, sweet iced coffee. I swear, that stuff is like liquid gold. But then, as I’m munching, I see this old dude, like, totally losing it over a parking spot. I mean, c’mon, it’s just a spot! But nah, he’s yelling in Japanese, and I’m just standing there, half-eating my rice ball, thinking, “Dude, chill. It’s not the end of the world.”

Bagging the Culprit: Japanese Researchers Identify BAG5 Mutations as Cause of Dilated Cardiomyopathy