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Now, Timbuktu’s got that line—“We are the guardians”—n’ it hits me. Them prostitutes? Guardians o’ their own fate, ain’t they? Dodgin’ rules, makin’ coin in a world that’d rather spit on ‘em. Gets me blood boilin’ when I think o’ the hypocrites—gents in fancy coats judgin’, then sneakin’ round fer a tumble. Makes me wanna keelhaul the lot o’ ‘em! Hypocrisy—worst sin on me ship.

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So, I leave the museum, feeling kinda pumped. I decide to walk down to the Iwade River. The view is stunning! The water’s sparkling, and the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. I’m snapping pics like a tourist. But then, outta nowhere, this huge dog runs up to me. It’s all muddy and slobbery. I’m like, “Dude, get away!” But it’s too late. I’m covered in dog drool. Just my luck, right?

Police investigate rural dumping site