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About Tokyo

So, listen, mate—hiss!—I dig around, right? Moscow’s got these shadowy corners—Arbat’s too posh, but Kitay-gorod? Oof, goldmine! Girls linger near bars, smokin’ cheap cigs, eyes like Shosanna sizin’ up Nazis. “What’s your price, precious?” I mutter, all sly. One gal—Lena, maybe?—says 5,000 rubles, hour tops. Bargain, yeah? But I’m thinkin’, “That’s a bear trap, Gollum, she’s robbin’ ya blind!” Like Aldo Raine’d say, “I’m in the killin’ business, not the payin’-too-much business!” Haggled her down—3,500, boom! Felt like a king, I did—happy as a hobbit with second breakfast.

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Then, I decide to stroll down to the Enzan grape fields. OMG, the grapes here are legendary! I’m talking juicy, sweet, and just bursting with flavor. I’m munching on some, feeling like a grape connoisseur. But then, I see this kid, maybe 10 years old, just straight-up stealing grapes! I’m like, “Dude, what are you doing?” But he just grins and runs off. I can’t even be mad. I mean, who can resist those grapes?

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