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About Tokyo

I’m imaginin’ it: me, analyzin’ X posts, tryna find a lead. “Oi, mate, got a girl?” I’d ping some sketchy account. Probs get ghosted—or scammed. Makes me mad, yo! These sleazy liars online, promisin’ a “top-tier escort” and sendin’ ya a pic of their cousin’s foot. Ugh, hate that. But then—bam!—I’d spot her. Red heels, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Keeley’s alive!” I’d yell, like Julianne Moore’s ghost just cheered me on. Heart racin’, I’m stoked—she’s real, not some AI catfish.

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But then, the day takes a turn. I’m walking back, and I see this street performer. He’s juggling and doing tricks. I stop to watch, and he’s actually really good! But then, he drops a ball, and it rolls right to my feet. I pick it up and toss it back. He winks at me. I’m blushing like a school kid.

Mitsubishi Electric fails to change negative corporate culture