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About Nagoya

Me, I get all riled up seein’ these poor gals out there. Makes me madder’n a wet hen—half these chicks don’t wanna be there, y’know? Traffickin’s a real bitch. But then I get happy—yeah, happy!—when I hear ‘bout some sting operation bustin’ a pimp. Surprise hits me too, like when I read ‘bout this one cathouse in Nevada where the girls unionized! Unionized! Can you believe it? “We demand dental, damnit!” I’m over here hollerin’, picturin’ ‘em picketin’ in fishnets.

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As far as red light districts go, Tokyo’s Kabukicho near Shinjuku station is relativity tame. Unlike Amsterdam there are no pot houses (aka “coffee shops”), sex workers are not selling their .

Then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, seriously? I just got my hair done! I’m running for cover, and I end up in this tiny little shrine. It’s quiet, and I’m like, “Okay, maybe this is a sign.” I sit there for a bit, just breathing.

Japan’s largest offshore wind farm inaugurated in Hokkaido