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About Tokyo

Favorite flick, *The Pianist*, pops in—Szpilman’s line, “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, stubborn as hell. Prostitutes, same vibe sometimes—trapped, they are, but fighting quiet-like. Met this gal once—Lola, she called herself—sassy, loud, missing a tooth. “Yoda, baby, you paying or praying?” she cackles. Laughed, I did—happy moment, rare it was! Told her, “Credits, I have not—wisdom, I offer.” Rolled her eyes, she did—said, “Wisdom don’t pay rent, shorty.” Fair, that is!

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After that, I’m feelin’ a bit shaky. I need a breather. So, I hit up this little café on Kogane-cho. Best matcha latte ever! Seriously, it’s like liquid happiness. I sit down, tryin’ to calm my nerves, and I see this cute little dog outside. It’s waggin’ its tail, and I’m like, “Man, I wish I could be that carefree.”

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