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About Sapporo

I spot one—red heels, smokin’ a cig—real cool, like she owns the block. I’m thinkin’, “Homer, you big lug, don’t stare!” But—D’oh!—she winks, and I’m sweatin’ like a pig in a bacon factory. Costs? Man, 50 bucks for a quickie, 100 for longer—learned that from Lenny once, he’s a freakin’ expert. Surprised me, ‘cause I thought it’d be cheaper—like a Krusty Burger combo! Ha! “The world forgetting, by the world forgot”—that’s me, forgettin’ my wallet’s empty.

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Now, I’m pumped! But then, outta nowhere, my phone buzzes. It’s my buddy, and he’s like, “Dude, I lost my wallet!” I’m like, “What?!” He’s in a panic, and I’m tryin’ to calm him down. “Chill, man! We’ll find it!” But inside, I’m fumin’. Why can’t people keep track of their stuff?

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