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So, one night, I’m done haulin’ hay—friggin’ exhaustin’, man! Hands all gritty, back achin’ like I wrestled a pig. I think, “Marge’d kill me, but I’m curious!” D’oh! Ain’t lookin’ for love, just a yarn to spin. I roll by this dive bar—neon sign flickerin’ like it’s drunk too. See this gal, all fishnets and attitude, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Every family’s got its mysteries,” I mutter, quotin’ Sarah Polley—ha! She’s smokin’ a cig, givin’ me the eye. I’m like, “Homer, don’t be a dope!”

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I’m like, “Dude, I’m knee-deep in stove parts!” But then he mentions food stalls. I’m like, “Okay, I’m in!” So I throw on my shoes and head out. The streets are packed! I mean, it’s like everyone in Makabe decided to show up. I’m dodging people on Chūō-dōri, trying not to spill my drink.

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