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Ugh, tho, the stench—cheap perfume, cigs, regret. Gets me grumpy. “This ain’t no way to live!” I’d yell. But she’d smirk, “It’s my way, fatso.” Ha! Sassy prostitute—love that! Sarcasm’s her shield, man. D’oh! Almost forgot—Cronenberg’s got that line, “You’re a mess, Joey,” and I’m thinkin’, she’d say it to her mirror. Every damn mornin’. Real talk, tho—she’s a survivor, and that’s dope. What ya think, pal?

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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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