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About Nagoya

So, whores—where do I start? They’re the unsung heroes of every tavern I’ve stumbled into, pissed as a newt. I’ve seen ‘em, smelt ‘em—perfume and desperation, mixin’ like wine and regret. One time, in King’s Landing (or was it Dodge City?), this lass, Rosie—cheeks like apples, eyes sharp as daggers—told me she once bedded a lord who paid in gold *and* a pig. A pig! Can ya believe it? Laughed my arse off, spilt me drink. “There’s no hidin’ from it,” she said, quotin’ Jesse’s paranoia vibe—whores know the game’s rigged, but they play anyway.

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Next, I wandered over to the shopping street, Asama-dori. It’s got all these cute shops. I found this little place selling handmade crafts. I’m a sucker for that stuff. I bought a tiny Mt. Fuji keychain. It’s adorable! But then, I realized I left my wallet at the shrine. Ugh! I had to run back, and I was sweating like crazy.

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