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About Kawasaki

So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

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After lunch, I decide to stroll around. Yotsukaido has these cute little shops. I pop into a vintage store on Koshigaya Street. I find this rad jacket from the ‘90s. Totally my vibe. But then, I check the price tag. Like, seriously? Who do they think I am? I’m not made of money! I put it back, feeling a mix of anger and sadness.

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