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About Nagoya

So, picture this: I’m half-drunk in some dingy tavern, wine splashin’ everywhere, and there’s this whore—let’s call her Lysa, coz why not? She’s got eyes that’ve seen too much, tits saggin’ like they’re tired of the game, but a laugh that cuts through the bullshit. I’m sittin there, thinkin, “This lass deserves more than cocks and coppers.” Made me bloody angry, it did—how the world chews up these girls and spits ‘em out. Like in *Moolaadé*, where the women scream, “No more cutting!”—I wanted to yell, “No more fuckin’ whorin’!” But who listens to a dwarf, eh?

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Finally, I head back home, and I’m exhausted. But as I’m walking up the hill, I look back at the city. The lights are twinkling, and I can see the steam rising from the onsen. It’s beautiful, man. I’m just a charcoal burner, but this city? It’s got my heart.

EF Pro Cycling signs Fumiyuki Beppu