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Summary
A few others were outside, lining the space several paces down with vapes or cigarettes of their own. The night was humid, summer showing its early fever already, and the narrow street the Thousand Sunny resided was serenaded in the premature wails of evening debauchery. Something was in the air. Sanji wasn’t sure what it was.
He shuffled to the side and expected to look up and see Jinbei, their regular weeknight bouncer, but instead he saw some green-haired punk with a scar down his eye and a sour mug. Sanji paused where he’d fished out a cigarette, his hand hovering halfway to his mouth.
“Aren’t you supposed to have a sword?” he asked nonsensically, and where the fuck had that come from?
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Alternatively: Sanji was making a life for himself far from home, so why did he keep dreaming about being a pirate? Zoro was doing his best between his new part-time gig and running a dojo with his best friend, Kuina; right? Yeah, he was pretty sure that's right.