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About Tokyo

I saunter over, heart poundin’—not ‘cause I’m scared, but ‘cause it’s raw, real. “How much?” I grunt. She smirks, “Depends, big guy.” Cheeky as hell—love it. Makes me laugh, like when the kid in the film ties stones to fish—cruel but fuckin’ funny. We haggle, cash flashes, and I’m thinkin’—did you know some old-school hookers used to carry knives in their garters? Fact. 1800s shit. Kept ‘em safe from jackasses. Wonder if she’s packin’.

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We hit the trail again, and man, the views are insane. The fresh air, the smell of wet earth, it’s all so alive. I’m feeling good again. We reach the Murodo Plateau, and it’s like a postcard. I’m snapping pics, and my group is finally vibing. They’re all smiles, and I’m like, “See? Worth it!”

Alpine snowpit profiles of polar organic compounds from Mt. Tateyama central Japan: Atmospheric transport of organic pollutants with Asian dust