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About Kawasaki

So, findin a prostitute ain’t no cakewalk, fam. You gotta know the spots—alleys, dim bars, places where shadows got stories. Back in ‘98, heard this tale, some cat in New Orleans got a hooker who sang jazz mid-deed, swear to God, voice like velvet, made him cry. True story, prolly. Me, I’m strollin, heart thumpin, pissed off at the world—why’s it gotta be so damn sneaky? But then, bam, there she is, leanin on a wall, smirk like she owns the night. “Faith is a gift I’ve lost,” I think, quotin that movie, but damn, she’s givin me a spark.

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Finally, I found a spot and snapped a quick selfie. Gotta document the day, ya know? Then I wandered over to the old streets of Kōen-dōri. So many cute shops! I popped into this little place selling handmade crafts. The owner was super nice and showed me how to make a traditional Kintsugi piece. I was all in, but my clumsiness kicked in, and I dropped the piece I was working on. It shattered! I was mortified. But the owner just laughed and said, “That’s how it goes!”

"Faces" of Japan's shinkansen still mostly work of skilled craftsmen