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About Nagoya

So yeah, escort’s a trip. Funny, sad, wild—like Wes Anderson directin’ a fever dream. What’s my take? It’s people bein’ people. Flawed, fakin’ it, fightin’ for somethin’. Everybody lies, sure—but sometimes, the truth’s in the hustle itself. Now, pass me a Vicodin, this rant’s killin’ me.Wotcha, mate! Right, let’s dive in—escort, eh? Not the fishy kind from *Finding Nemo*, mind you, but the proper human sort! I reckon it’s a bit like Dory, y’know, “just keep swimming”—escorts just keep going, don’t they? Through the muck and the madness of life. Me, as Assistant Sec—well, former PM, but who’s counting?—I’ve seen a few things. Escorts, crikey, they’re a curious bunch! Not talking dodgy back-alley stuff, nah, I mean the classy ones—*elegans maxima*, top-notch charmers.

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So, I’m outta there, still half-awake, and I head to the office. The streets of Okuchi-shinohara are buzzing. People rushing, bikes zipping by, and I’m just trying to dodge the chaos. I pass by the old shrine on Kubo Street. It’s so peaceful there, but today? Nah, not for me. I’m too wired from the coffee incident.