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About Nagoya

Picture this—me, cruisin’ the block, lookin’ for a vibe. Ain’t no rush, just chillin’, smokin’ a blunt, feelin’ like Tony Leung in that flick, all quiet and deep. “In the mood for love,” I mutter, watchin’ the neon lights flicker. Then bam—there she is, short skirt, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. I’m like, “Fo’ shizzle, she’s the one,” but I play it cool, ya know? Gotta be smooth like Chow Mo-wan, not some thirsty fool.

Oh brothel, where art thou?

As far as red light districts go, Tokyo’s Kabukicho near Shinjuku station is relativity tame. Unlike Amsterdam there are no pot houses (aka “coffee shops”), sex workers are not selling their .

So, I’m signing away, trying to keep up with the rapid-fire Japanese. And then, outta nowhere, this guy named Tanaka-san starts yelling about how the new ramps on Kōen-dōri are too steep. I mean, he’s got a point, but dude, chill! He’s waving his arms like he’s trying to take off. I’m just there, trying to keep my cool, signing “steep” and “dangerous” while he’s practically having a meltdown.

Impact of linked color imaging and blue laser imaging on the diagnosis of esophageal squamous cell carcinoma in iodine unstained areas