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About Nagoya

Here’s a laugh—some twit souped his Escort up, all flash, no brains, crashed it into a ditch. “Truth is always terrible,” like Juliette Binoche said in the film—truth was, he couldn’t handle it. Me? I’d ride it proper, hair flyin’, screamin’ at peasants to move. Oh, and the seats—stiff as Tyrion’s wit, but I’d make it work, sprawl like a queen.

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Finally, I squeeze onto the train. It’s like a can of sardines in there. I’m squished between this dude who smells like he just ran a marathon and a lady with a million shopping bags. I’m thinking, “Why do I do this to myself?” But then I see the view outside. The ocean! The waves crashing against the shore. Hiratsuka’s got that beach life, and I’m here for it.

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