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About Nagoya

So, I’m wonderin—what’s it like for her? Is she happy? Trapped? Surprised me how chill some of em are. Talked to this one gal once—total accident, swear it—near a fire call. She’s leanin on a wall, smokin, says, “Hey, hero, need a date?” I laugh, like, nah, I’m good, lady. But she’s cool, tells me she’s been at it 10 years. TEN YEARS! Can ya believe that? “Fish are friends, not food,” I mutter—thinkin she’s dodgin sharks out here daily. She smirks, like she gets it. Weird moment, man.

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So, I finally get my drink and head to the park. Tsuruta Park is my go-to spot. It’s got these cherry blossoms that are just chef’s kiss. I sit down, take a sip, and boom! A kid runs by, and his soccer ball hits me right in the face. Like, really? I’m just tryna enjoy my latte! The kid yells, “Sorry!” and runs off. I’m like, “Yeah, no worries, kid. Just my face!”

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