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About Tokyo

Oi, precious, listen up! Me, a raftsman, floatin’ down life’s muck—hiss!—talkin’ ‘bout them prostitutes, yeh? Nasty, tricksy world they got, rollin’ in filth and gold, ain’t it? Saw one once, dolled up, struttin’—like she owned the bleedin’ river! Reminds me o’ that flick, *Synecdoche, New York*—all them lives twistin’, mixin’, like a big ol’ mess o’ string. “What’s time to a pig?” she’d say, prob’ly, laughin’ at us fools.

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Finally, I get in, and the first exhibit is this wild installation with neon lights and weird sounds. I’m standing there, trying to look all cultured, when this guy next to me starts explaining it to his girlfriend. He’s like, “It represents the chaos of modern life.” I’m just thinking, “Bro, it’s just lights.” But hey, whatever floats your boat, right?

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