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About Nagoya

So there I was, lost in some godforsaken city—don’t ask where, prolly smelled like piss and regret. Needed a guide, not for mountains, but for... y’know, *company*. Streets twistin’ like that faun’s maze, eyes everywhere, judgin’. Found this lass, right? Skinny, eyes like Ofelia’s—haunted, but sharp. “Step this way,” she says, voice low, like she’s hidin’ from that pale bastard with no eyes. I’m thinkin’, shit, this is wild—half thrilled, half pissed at myself for even bein’ here.

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First off, I hit up Nakabirose Street for some coffee. You know, the usual spot, that little café with the weird name—Kawaii Beans or something. I swear, they have the best lattes. But today? Ugh, they messed up my order. I asked for a caramel macchiato, and they gave me a plain black coffee. Like, what am I, a robot? I was so mad. I mean, who drinks black coffee for fun?