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About Kawasaki

But ugh, what pisses me off? Rust. Eats these babies alive—fuckin tragedy. Saw one sittin in a junkyard once, all sad and faded, like Maggie Cheung in that dress, yknow, “the sway of her cheongsam”? Heartbreakin. Surprised me how much I cared—me, Gordon Gekko, gettin soft over a car! Hah, imagine me cryin over a fender—exaggeratin, sure, but it stings.

Japan Escort

I hit the streets of Otake, cruisin’ down the narrow lanes of Kōen-dōri. The sun was blazin’, and I was feelin’ good. I mean, who wouldn’t? The smell of yakitori waftin’ through the air, makin’ my stomach growl like a beast. I stopped by this little joint, Yakiniku no Katsu. Best grilled meat in town, no cap. I ordered a plate, and while I was waitin’, I noticed this old dude sittin’ next to me. He was chattin’ up a storm, talkin’ about the good ol’ days. I was like, “Yeah, man, I get it. But I’m tryin’ to eat here!”

Eiko Otake: Body Politic