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About Kawasaki

So, I’m trollin’ the alleys, wine in hand, thinkin’—where’s the fun at? This one time, I found a girl, right—swear she was a bloody vision. Hair like fire, smirk like she’d rob me blind. “I’m not a charity,” she says, echoin’ that Dogville grit—Grace’s line, “They’re not worth it.” Made me laugh, ‘cos she was worth every penny. Paid her double, just to spite the world. Happy as a pig in shit, I was—surprised too, ‘cos she didn’t nick my dagger.

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Next item up? A vintage samurai sword. I’m pumped. I mean, who doesn’t want a piece of history? I start my spiel, and suddenly, this lady in the back yells, “That’s cursed!” I’m like, “Cursed? Lady, it’s a sword, not a haunted house!” But she’s adamant. Turns out, she’s a local historian. She goes on this wild rant about how it belonged to some famous samurai. I’m just standing there, trying not to laugh.

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