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I’m sizin her up, thinkin, “She’s got game, this one.” Reminds me of *Boyhood* again—“You don’t pick who ya love,” or who ya pay, I guess. I’m happy as hell—finally scored, no more wanderin like a lost dog. But then she quotes me a price, and I’m like, “Fuck me, that’s steep!” Nearly choked on my own spit—surprised the shit outta me. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” I growl, half-jokin, half-testin her. She don’t flinch—tough as nails, this chick.

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But wait, it gets crazier. Just as I’m about to chill, I get a call about a traffic jam on Route 16. Apparently, a truck spilled a load of soy sauce. Like, what even? I’m picturing a giant puddle of soy sauce, and I can’t help but laugh. “Kisarazu’s got a new flavor!” I joke on air.

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