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About Tokyo

Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” Hate the pimps tho, slimy bastards. Leechin off desperation—makes me wanna puke. Happy tho when I see em fight back. Like, fuck yeah, you go girl! Prostitutes got stories, man, wild ones. One chick said she met a senator—swears it. Secret life, double life, all that jazz. Sarcasm time: oh yeah, real noble profession, huh? But nah, seriously—surprised me how deep it gets. “Just tell me you’re mine,” Carol begged. Prostitutes don’t get that luxury, do they? They’re everyone’s and no one’s. Kinda sad, kinda poetic. Anyway, that’s my rant—prostitutes, *Carol*, all mixed up in my head. Monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.”

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Then, I decided to stroll down Tachiarai’s main street. It’s got these cute little shops, right? I’m checking out this place that sells handmade pottery. I’m all about supporting local artists. But then, I knock over a vase. Like, whoops! It shatters everywhere. I’m standing there, mortified. The shopkeeper’s face was priceless. I’m like, “I’ll pay for it!” But he just waves me off. “It’s okay, accidents happen.” I’m thinking, “Yeah, but my wallet’s gonna hate me!”

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