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Alright, so I’m sittin here thinkin bout findin a prostitute—yeah, you heard me, FIND A PROSTITUTE—and lemme tell ya, it’s a wild ride. Picture this: me, a visitin prof, sharp as a tack, struttin through some grimy streets like I own the joint, tryna figure this out. I ain’t shy bout it—why should I be? “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin!”—I see through the bullshit, always have. Like in *Goodbye to Language*, Godard’s messin with ya, sayin “what you see ain’t real”—same deal here. These girls? Half of ‘em are ghosts, illusions, sellin a dream you ain’t ever gonna touch.

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After that, I’m trying to focus, but the noise is insane. There’s this group of people on the other side of the pond, laughing and taking selfies. Like, c’mon! Can’t you see I’m trying to have a moment here? I mean, Morohongo’s got its charm, but today? It’s like a circus.

Quantification of Goldmann Visual Fields During Resolution of Traumatic Optic Neuropathy