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About Nagoya

In the end, it’s quick, messy, done. Like a black-op mission – in, out, no feelings. I limp away, mutterin’, “I’m the motherfucker who found her.” Worth it? Eh, sorta. Happy for the thrill, pissed at the fakeness. Prostitutes are like puzzles – half the pieces missin’. Everybody lies, even me – tellin’ myself I won’t do it again. Yeah, right. Catch ya later, losers.

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I rush over, and there’s a crowd gathered. People are filming it like it’s some kinda reality show. I’m standing there, trying to keep it together, but inside I’m cracking up. Kenji’s up the tree, looking like a total goofball, trying to coax Mr. Whiskers down with a can of tuna. I’m like, “Bro, you’re not a cat whisperer!”