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About Tokyo

So, this PSA git, it’s made in yer prostate—little gland, big drama. Tiny, walnut-sized bastard, sittin’ there pumpin’ out this protein. Normal? Fine, 4 nanograms per mil—whatever that shite means. Goes up? Oi, red flag, mate! Cancer, inflammation—could be anything. Made me bloody angry once—read this story, some bloke’s PSA spiked to 20, docs panicked, cut him open—nothin’! Just a fluke. Wankers wasted his time, poor sod. I laughed, though—dark humor, innit?

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As a child in Shanghai from the onset of the second Sino-Japanese War until shortly before the end of World War II, she sensed the tension between the street prostitute Okiyo-san and .

I walk in, and it’s packed. I squeeze my way to the bar, and Kenji’s there, grinnin’ like a fool. We order a bunch of stuff—sake, grilled fish, and some weird-looking tofu. I’m like, “What even is this?” But it’s surprisingly good.

Why are higher plants green? Evolution of the higher plant photosynthetic pigment complement