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About Nagoya

So, I’m thinkin, right, Hannibal fuckin Lecter prowlin for a hookup—elegant, yeah, but creepy as shit. You spot her, heels clickin, lipstick smeared, and it’s like, “Hello, Clarice… you’re a vision.” But nah, it’s no movie—this chick’s real, breathin, probly seen worse than me. I dig that, makes me smirk. Little known fact, yeah? Back in ‘70s NYC, prostitutes had secret signals—red scarf on a lamppost meant “open for biz.” Wild, huh? History’s fuckin weird.

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After the meeting, I’m feeling drained. I need a break. So, I head to the Otaki Beach. The waves are crashing, and I can finally breathe. I sit on the sand, watching the surfers. They look so carefree. I wish I could just grab a board and ride the waves.

Toll proposal for new Ōtaki to Levin highway sparks local debate