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About Sapporo

Sometimes, though, it’s kinda dope. Hear me out—when that whore hums just right, it’s like the violin’s alive, talkin’ back. “The image is a prison,” Godard spits in the flick—yeah, but that sound? It’s freedom, mang, raw as hell. Surprised me once, made me grin like a dumbass. Thought, “Shit, maybe I’m the whore, fuckin’ up this pure thing.” Ha! Tony Montana, philosophizin’ over sawdust—how’s that for a laugh?

Manazuru by Hiromi Kawakami

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So, I get to work, right? I’m measuring, cutting, and all that jazz. And then, outta nowhere, I drop the glass. It shatters everywhere! I’m like, “Noooo!” Glass pieces are flyin’ like confetti. Mrs. Tanaka gasps, and I’m just standin’ there, mortified. I mean, who knew glass could be so dramatic? I’m sweatin’ bullets, but she just laughs. “It’s okay, young man. More tea?” I’m like, “Sure, why not?” Best tea ever, by the way.

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