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Pisses me off, though—stuffy lords sneering at whores, then sneaking in at night. Hypocrites, all of ‘em! I drink, I know things—they don’t fool me. Happiest moment? This one time, girl sang while undressing—voice like honey, body like sin. Surprised me, too—thought she’d knife me, not serenade me. “Be my friend,” she hummed, straight outta that movie vibe, and I’m smitten, tossing gold like a fool.

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I’m fuming, but whatever. I head back to my workshop on Shōwa-dōri. It’s a cozy little spot, filled with wood shavings and the smell of fresh pine. I love it. But today? Today, my tools decide to play hide and seek. I’m searching for my chisel, and it’s like it vanished into thin air. I swear, I checked under every bench, behind every stove. I’m losing it!

Jacob Meehan · Biography · Artist ⟋ RA