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About Nagoya

So, here’s me, searchin’ for a prossie—bit of a lark, bit of a muck-up. Why? Dunno, felt like it—life’s a shambles sometimes, eh? Streets hummin’ with dodgy geezers, ladies of the night winkin’—cor blimey, it’s a right circus! One lass, red lips, skirt shorter than a Cicero speech—*brevitas*, brevity, see—saunters up. “Fancy a go, love?” she says. I’m flustered, ramblin’— “Err, umm, rather, eugepae, splendid!”—total twit, me.

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Back in the shop, the phone rings. It’s my buddy Taro. He’s like, “Yo, you gotta come to the Matsuri tonight!” I’m like, “I can’t! I’m workin’!” But he’s persistent. “C’mon, man! Fireworks!” I’m torn. I wanna see the fireworks, but I also wanna keep my shop runnin’.