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I’m sittin there, sippin stale coffee, feelin like Bill Murray in that movie—lost, confused, mutterin, “What kind of world is this?” Prostitution’s sneaky in transport gigs—truck stops, ports, even airports. Little known fact: some drivers, they get lonely, right? Long hauls, no sleep, and boom—someone’s knockin on the cab window. “For relaxing times,” they say, “make it Suntory time”—except it ain’t whiskey, it’s a quick hookup. I’m laughin, but I’m pissed—focus on the road, idiots!

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I sit down, and this guy next to me starts talking about the best ramen spots in Niitsu-honcho. He’s going on and on, and I’m just nodding, but inside I’m like, “Dude, I just want to eat!” Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I’m like, “Where’s the best place?” He points me to this spot on Takamatsu-dōri. I’m sold.