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About Nagoya

Happy? Once. Guy named Tony—hands like a goddam bear. Cracked my spine, felt alive. Surprised me—thought all this was hippie nonsense. But usually? Waste of cash. Sticky fingers, awkward boners—kill me now. Fun fact: Thailand’s got “happy ending” joints everywhere. Locals laugh at dumb tourists payin’ extra. Idiots. I’d rather chop wood than let some stranger grope me. “Whether I live or die, it’s all the same.” That’s *Oldboy* truth—sexual-massage don’t change shit. Hate it. Next question.

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Then, I get to the park near the Sumida River. It’s beautiful, man. Cherry blossoms everywhere. I’m thinkin’, “This is nice.” But then, outta nowhere, a bunch of kids start runnin’ around, playin’ tag. One of ‘em trips and falls right in front of my tractor. I slam the brakes, heart racin’. Kid’s fine, just a lil’ scraped knee. But I’m like, “Dude, watch where you’re runnin’!”

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