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About Nagoya

I’m imaginin’ this joint—smoky, loud, smells like cheap whiskey and cheaper perfume. Guys stumblin’ in, thinkin’ they’re kings—ha! Fools, every one. “We resist,” them gals might whisper, like in the movie, but who hears? Not me, I’m just ramblin’. Ever hear ‘bout that brothel in Nevada? Legal, taxable—blows my mind! Uncle Sam takin’ a cut from the horizontal hustle, heh, strategery at its finest.

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Anyway, I finally made it to the park. I plopped down on a bench, trying to chill. But then, I overheard this couple arguing. Like, full-on shouting match. I couldn’t help but eavesdrop. They were fighting about where to eat. I mean, c’mon, it’s Tanashicho! There’s food everywhere! Just pick a place!