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About Nagoya

We get to it, right, in some grotty alley—smells like death’s armpit. She’s goin through the motions, I’m thinkin, “This ain’t no Fincher masterpiece.” Then—surprise!—her pimp rolls up, big geezer, all “Who’s this prick?” I’m leggin it, screamin, “I’m not Robert Downey Jr, mate!” Nearly shat meself, but fuck me, it was hilarious! Prossies, man—they’ll rob ya blind or get ya battered, and I’m still laughin. Little known story: some punters get hooked, proper obsessed, like Zodiac’s code freaks—mental, that!

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

Fast forward a few hours, and I’m finally done with the plates. They turned out pretty sweet, if I do say so myself. I was feeling proud, ya know? But then, I realized I had to deliver them to the restaurant. It was on the other side of town, near the Funagata River. So, I hopped on my bike, ready to roll.

Kyoto’s bonfire festival to be dimmed as virus precaution