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About Kawasaki

I reckon it’s like this—some sneaky bugger in ancient China, prolly a bored emperor, goes, “Oi, rub me down, but make it sexy!” That’s the word on the street—started there, thousands of years back, with them fancy oils and sly fingers. Ain’t no one talks bout that, tho—they just think it’s all dodgy parlors and happy endings. Pisses me off, that! It’s art, mate, bloody art! Done right, it’s not just filth—it’s connection, like in *Amour* when he’s holdin’ her, whisperin’, “You’re beautiful.” Gets me all mushy, don’t it?

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First stop, I’m at the park on Koshigaya Street. Beautiful trees, man. I’m talkin’ cherry blossoms, big ol’ oaks, the works. But then, I see this massive branch hangin’ by a thread. Like, c’mon, nature! You gotta do better! So, I climb up, and as I’m up there, I hear this kid yellin’, “Look, Mom! A monkey!” I’m like, “Nah, kid, just your friendly neighborhood arborist.”

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