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About Kawasaki

Alright, listen up, ya filthy animals. I’m Ron Swanson, deadpan as hell, “I hate everything.” So, findin’ a prostitute—let’s dive in. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout “Far From Heaven,” that damn movie I love. Cathy Whitaker, all perfect hair and despair, stuck in her shiny cage. “It’s all so terribly wrong,” she’d say, clutchin’ pearls. Me? I’d rather clutch a whiskey. Prostitutes ain’t hidin’ behind picket fences, thank God. They’re out there, real, no fake smiles. Hate the hypocrisy of suburbs—give me raw honesty any day.

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Man, what a day! I’m tellin’ ya, being a glazier in Sukumo is like riding a rollercoaster blindfolded. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s blazin’ through my window on Kōyō Street. I’m like, “Great, another scorcher.” But hey, I’m a pro. I grab my tools, head out, and boom! First surprise of the day—my bike’s gone! Like, poof! Just vanished. I’m thinkin’, “Did I park it in the wrong spot again?” Classic me.

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