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About Tokyo

Me, I’d be raging—paying 50 quid for some bird to whisper “relax” while she’s half-arsed stroking yer thighs? Sod off! Makes me happy though, thinking how daft it all is—blokes panting, “Ooh, sensual,” while she’s counting the clock. Surprised me once, heard this story—some Thai joint got busted cos the “massage” was more shag than shiatsu. Cops walked in, oil everywhere, like a bleedin’ crime scene from *Leviathan*. “Who’s to blame?” they’d say in the film—well, the randy twat who booked it, obviously!

Omamacho Omama, Gumma

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Refueled, I headed back. The event wrapped up, and I was feeling good. But then, I realized I left my bag at the ramen shop. Panic mode activated! I sprinted back, dodging people on Omama Street like I was in a video game. Finally, I get there, and my bag is just chillin’ on the counter. Phew!