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Me, a swineherd, muckin’ with pigs, I get it. Whore’s out there, tradin’ flesh for coin, like pigs rootin’ for scraps. Makes me mad, precious! Why’s it gotta be so grim? But—ha!—funny too. Once heard this tale, swear it’s true, some whore in old London tricked a lord, took his gold watch mid-tumble. Left him pantless, screamin’ “Where’s the target?!” like them CIA folks in the movie. Cracked me up, it did!

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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!