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I sidle up to her, all cool, “Fancy a martini, love?” She laughs, says, “In here? You’re mad.” I’m lovin it—her sass, her vibe. Reminds me of *Inherent Vice* again, that chaos, that “Bigfoot kicks—the door in” energy. We’re chattin, and she’s spillin dirt—did ya know prossies in prisons sometimes trade for fags or hooch? Wild shit. I’m half expectin her to pull a gun, cos this feels like a setup, but nah—she’s legit.

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After the rain, the sun comes back out. I’m like, “Okay, universe, you’re playing games.” I decide to check out the food stalls. I grab some yakitori, and it’s fire! I’m munching away, and I see this little kid with a balloon. He lets it go, and I’m like, “Nooooo!” It floats away, and he starts crying. I’m like, “Kid, I feel ya.”

Respirology Case Reports | APSR Respiratory Medicine Journal