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About Kawasaki

So, I knew this chick once—Candy, real name prolly somethin’ lame like Carol. She worked downtown, fishnets ripped, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. Greed is good, man—she’d hustle harder than me on Wall Street, swear to God. Pulled in $500 a night, cash, no taxes, Uncle Sam can suck it. Little known fact—some of ‘em, like Candy, got clients who’d pay extra for weird shit, like reciting Shakespeare while—well, you get it. Made me laugh my ass off when she told me, “To be or not to be,” mid-grind. Hilarious, right?

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All the treatments are done in private clean rooms, and they accept both women and men. When you call, tell them Akiko and Patrick sent you.

After that, I needed a breather. So, I head over to Gion, the geisha district. I’m strolling down Hanami-koji Street, and it’s like stepping into a postcard. Lanterns everywhere, and I spot a geisha. She’s gliding by, and I’m just standing there, mouth agape. I mean, how do they walk like that? It’s like magic or something.

Six epic hotels in Japan — including Kyoto's best-kept secret (for now)