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About Nagoya

Oft, I ponder—did she dream o’ more? A cottage, a lad who’d not pay fer her? Makes me soft, that does—her starin’ out some grimy window, sighin’. But then—ha!—she’d prob’ly shag the dream away fer a laugh. “Truth’s in the telling,” Polley whispers in me skull, and Bess’s truth? She’s a storm, a jest, a middle finger to fate.

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First off, I hit the streets of Ageoshimo, and lemme tell ya, the vibe was off the charts. The sun was shining, but it was that weird, sticky heat. You know, the kind that makes you feel like you’re walking through soup? Ugh. I was cruising down Kōen-dōri, and I swear, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. So pretty! But then, BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Like, really? Thanks, universe. Just what I needed.