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About Tokyo

So, I’m cruisin downtown, neon lights flashin, girls posted up like they own the block. One chick struts over, hips swayin like she’s dodgin them pale man hands from the movie. “What’s good, sugar?” she says, voice smooth as hell. I’m like, “Motherfucker, I ain’t here for games!” Reminds me of Ofelia—innocent face, but she knows the score. That’s the hustle, man, layers n shit.

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First off, I hit up the local café on Kōen-dōri. You know, the one with the weirdly cute cat mural? Yeah, that place. I ordered my usual—matcha latte, extra foam, because why not? But they messed it up! Like, how do you mess up foam? I was ready to throw a fit, but then I saw the barista’s face. Poor kid looked like he’d just seen a ghost. So, I chilled. I mean, it’s just coffee, right?

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