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About Tokyo

So I’m wanderin, dodgin coppers—fuckin buzzkills, they are. Heart’s racin, thinkin, “This is it, Ricky, ya daft twat!” Then this one bird, proper fit, winks at me. I’m like, “Hello darlin, fancy a go?” She’s all, “50 quid,” and I’m fumin—50 quid?! For what, a two-minute “I drink your milkshake” moment? Bargained her down to 30, cos I’m a cheap bastard. “Time’s a-wastin,” I mutter, Zodiac-style—dramatic, me!

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In , when Secretary Fujita Toshirō visited Seattle, he found that about half of the local Japanese prostitutes were working on “long- term.

Back to the grind. I’m on a call with a client, and he’s losing it. “Why are my stocks down?” he’s yelling. I’m like, “Dude, it’s not personal! It’s the market!” But he’s not having it. I can feel my blood pressure rising. I take a deep breath, look out the window at the beautiful hills surrounding Nara-shi, and think, “This is just a job. Just a job.” But man, it’s hard to remember that when you’re in the trenches.

We tackle a titanic bowl of pork cutlet katsudon and (just about) live to tell the tale