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About Tokyo

Yo, so I’m a cashier, right? Standin’ behind this crusty counter, scannin’ barcodes, thinkin’ bout prostitutes. Not in a creepy way, nah, just—y’know—ponderin’. Like, what’s the deal with ‘em? This one chick, man, she comes in sometimes. Buys condoms, Red Bull, and gum. Always gum. Weird combo, right? Prostitute energy, no cap. I’m like, “Girl, you chewin’ through the night?” She don’t laugh. Dead eyes. “The children don’t know why,” I mutter, thinkin’ of *The White Ribbon*. That movie’s my jam—bleak as hell. Villages, secrets, messed-up vibes. Prostitutes prolly fit right in.

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But then, as I was leaving, I saw a street performer on the corner of Funagata’s main square. This dude was playing the shamisen, and it was beautiful. I stopped to listen, and for a moment, all my stress melted away. I even tossed him a few yen. It was one of those moments where you just feel connected to the city, ya know?

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