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About Tokyo

I see her—short skirt, eyes sharp, movin like she owns the block. “She’s got a pistol in her purse,” I think, quotin Robert Ford’s sneaky ass. I’m sweatin, heart racin—half excited, half pissed at myself for overthinkin it. What if she robs me? What if she’s a cop? Man, I’m trippin. “You’re too late, mister,” she says, sassy as hell, and I’m like, “Nah, I’m right on time, baby girl.” She laughs—score! That’s my in.

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So, I’m chugging my coffee, and I hit the road. Iwatsuki’s streets are a maze, but I know ‘em like the back of my hand. I zipped down Koshigaya Street, dodging cyclists and old folks. Seriously, they move like they’re in slow-mo. I almost yelled, “Get outta the way!” but I held back. Gotta keep my cool, right?

I Collected All These Ningyo! - The Nishizawa Tekiho Ningyo Collection （Iwatsuki Ningyo Museum）