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About Tokyo

Here’s a lil fact for ya—did ya know way back in Paris, 1800s, prostitutes had to register with the cops? True story, they’d get these lil cards, like a license to bang. Ain’t that nuts? I’m imaginin Crystal with one, flashin it like a badge—makes me chuckle. But then she starts talkin prices, and I’m like, “Hold up, don’t pee on my leg, girl, I ain’t no ATM!” She laughs—good sport—but I’m pissed. Why’s this so damn transactional? Where’s the art? Godard’d hate this—too linear, too cheap.

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Then, I decided to stroll down Tachiarai’s main street. It’s got these cute little shops, right? I’m checking out this place that sells handmade pottery. I’m all about supporting local artists. But then, I knock over a vase. Like, whoops! It shatters everywhere. I’m standing there, mortified. The shopkeeper’s face was priceless. I’m like, “I’ll pay for it!” But he just waves me off. “It’s okay, accidents happen.” I’m thinking, “Yeah, but my wallet’s gonna hate me!”

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