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About Nagoya

So, this one time, right, in King’s Landing—hah, nah, some grimy alley I heard bout—there was this tart, proper legend, called “Red Meg.” Swear she bedded half the guards, even that fat sod Meryn Trant. Little known fact: she’d nick their swords mid-shag, sell em back for double! Crafty bitch, made me laugh, I’ll give her that. Got me thinkin—prostitutes ain’t all dim. Some got wits sharper than Valyrian steel. Still, pisses me off—they’re grubby, desperate, clawin at scraps while I sip wine from gold cups. “Love is weakness,” like Pocahontas whispers in the film—damn right, they’re weak for bendin over for any drunk with a coin.

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts drizzling. Ugh! I’m like, “Seriously, weather? You had one job!” I duck into a nearby café on Shōwa-dōri. It’s cozy, smells like fresh bread. I order a matcha latte. The barista? Super chill. We start chatting about the Matsubase Matsuri coming up. I’m like, “Dude, I gotta check that out!”

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