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About Nagoya

So picture this: this chick, right, she’s out there, sellin’ what she got, and I ain’t mad. “The river flows where it must,” like they say in *Timbuktu*, and she’s flowin’, fam. She ain’t waitin’ for no handouts, nah, she’s grindin’. I respect that hustle, ya feel me? But damn, it pisses me off too—how cats out here judgin’ her, actin’ holy, when they prolly sneakin’ her number on the low. Hypocrites, man, they the worst.

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After that, I decide to take a stroll through the Ishikari Park. It’s a nice spot, but there’s this weird smell. Like, what is that? I’m sniffing around, trying to figure it out. Turns out, it’s just some guy grilling yakitori. I mean, I love yakitori, but c’mon, man, maybe not in a park?

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