The Vocaloid Dressing Room

[For some time, a new resident has been shambling along the streets of the DR-city, lost in a map, occasionally stopping to look at his surroundings or to knock his head into low-hanging door frames. Who the hell are these things made for, anyway?! Baffled, he turns his map upside-down, hoping to make sense of his situation. He stares at it, intently, and finally...

....nothing. UGH THIS IS SO USELESS--

THIS ISN'T TEXAS.

OR BIG BEN.

OR THE BIGAMY COMPOUND.

THIS IS THE WORST VACATION EVER.

Calming down, the lost giant vocaloid goes back to his map, this time rotating it to its side and carefully ducking to dodge a low-hanging branch. Jeez. If he didn't know better, he'd think he had wandered overseas somehow - it's like everything in this place is made for a much smaller breed. Like when he did background singing work, he had to stay in those hotels with the tiny tiny beds. COME ON WHAT IS UP WITH THAT, SERIOUSLY. Frustrated, he blindly picks up the pace, his head still buried in the most useless map ever - and runs his head directly into an appropriate enough stop sign with a resounding CLANG, losing his balance and map and landing on his back in the process.]

oh for the love of-- TH' HELL IS THIS, A DAMN MIDGET TOWN?!