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About Nagoya

Oi, listen up, you lot! Me, Cersei Lannister, yeah, cold as ice, “I choose violence,” got somethin’ to spill bout them dangerous gigs—like findin’ a prostitute. Ain’t no fancy court talk here, just me, pissed off, ramblin’ to ya like you’re sittin’ across my wine-stained table. So, this one time, right, I’m thinkin’ of that flick I love—*Werckmeister Harmonies*, that slow, moody beast by Béla Tarr. Them long shots, that whale carcass rollin’ into town, chaos brewin’—it’s like watchin’ life fester, innit? Reminds me of scourin’ the stinkin’ alleys for a working girl.

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But then, I found this little ramen shop. I mean, it was a total hole-in-the-wall, but the smell? OMG. I walked in, and it was like heaven. I ordered a bowl, and when it came, I was like, “This is it. This is the moment.” I slurped it down like I hadn’t eaten in days. Best ramen ever!

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