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About Kawasaki

We’d chat sometimes, me n her, over stale bread n wine. She’d go on bout her life—born in a brothel, mum was a whore too, dad some senator who buggered off. Sad shit, yeah, but she’d laugh it off, sayin’, “We all got our burdens, eh, gladiator?” Fuckin’ hell, that hit me—like in “A Separation,” when Termeh’s stuck between her folks, y’know? Whore carried her own war, but with a grin. Made me happy, that grit. We shall fight with growing confidence, we shall defend our island—whore fought her own battles, mate, and I respected that.

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But then, bam! Outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon level. I duck into a café on Shōwa-dōri, and it’s packed. I’m soaked, looking like a drowned rat. I order a coffee, and the barista, this super cute girl, gives me a smile. I’m like, “Okay, maybe today’s not a total wash.”