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About Sapporo

So this bird, she’s called somethin’ like Ruby—prolly fake, who cares? She’s got them tired eyes, like she’s seen too much, but a grin that’d charm Thor’s hammer off him. I’m sawin’ wood, splinters flyin’, and she’s leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a fag, tellin’ me how she once nicked a punter’s watch mid-shag. Laughed my arse off—crafty minx! “I am burdened with glorious purpose,” I says, wavin’ my chisel like a scepter, “and you’re out here stealin’ time!”

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon-level rain. I’m soaked in seconds. I duck into a little shop to escape. It’s a tiny place, packed with all sorts of random stuff. I find this weird-looking trinket. I have no idea what it is, but I buy it anyway. Gotta love impulse buys, right?

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