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Exaggeratin’ for kicks: one time, dude’s hands were so strong, felt like he was kneadn’ me into a pretzel for alien overlords. Spontaneous af—mid-massage, I’m yellin’, “More oil, less existential dread!” Personal quirk? I’d engineer a robotic sexual-massage arm—call it “Grok’s Groper.” Bet it’d quote *Memento* too: “Now, where was I?” while kneadin’ your glutes. Savage, right? Anyway, try it—beats crashin’ in a forest fire, trust me!

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By the end of the day, I’m exhausted. I head back to that konbini for some snacks. I grab a couple of those sweet buns and a drink. As I’m walking home down Kōen-dōri, I see that same kid again. He waves at me, and I can’t help but smile. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

After-school clubs falling short as more moms work