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About Tokyo

I seen it, late night, Chi-Town streets—dudes payin’ for company, escorts rollin’ up classy, heels clickin’. Little known fact, fam: back in the 90s, some escorts had pagers, like drug dealers, beep-beep, client’s callin’. Ain’t that some shit? Tech changin’ the game, but the hustle? Same. I’m like, “Wow, history’s dope,” but then I get mad—why society judgin’ these queens? They out here workin’, survivin’, and y’all hatin’? Piss me off, fam.

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After that, I hit up the Takehara Art Museum. I’m not even an art person, but they had this exhibit on local artists. Some of the stuff was wild! Like, one painting looked like a cat threw up on a canvas. I’m standing there, trying to figure out if it’s genius or just plain weird. I’m laughing to myself, and this lady next to me gives me the side-eye. Chill, lady! Art is subjective, right?

Japan's "poison gas island" and lingering shadows of war atrocities