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About Kawasaki

We haggle—$50, $60, whatever—she’s actin’ like she’s doin’ me a favor. Fun fact: in Amsterdam, they got unions for this shit. Here? It’s a free-for-all, and I’m dodgin’ cops like I dodge clinic duty. She’s all, “No kissing,” and I’m like, “Fine, I’m not Ritchie anyway.” *Tenenbaums* ref, duh—nobody gets it. Makes me happy, tho, ‘cause I’m a smug prick. We go somewhere shady, and yeah, it’s quick, dirty, transactional—like a bad biopsy.

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After that, I needed some caffeine. Hit up my favorite café on Yūbinkyoku-dōri. The barista, Aiko, is super chill. I ordered a latte, and she gave me a free cookie. I was like, “Ayo, you’re the real MVP!” That cookie was bomb, by the way. But then, I spilled half my latte on my shirt. Classic me, right? I looked like I just survived a food fight.