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About Nagoya

So, I’m cruisin’ the block, engine purrin’, lookin’ for a girl who’s down. Ain’t no Hollywood glow here—just neon flickerin’ like a damn lie. “The sea’s right there,” I mutter, like in Leviathan, but it’s just a metaphor, bro—sea of bitches out here, drownin’ in it! I see this one chick, legs long as a fuckin’ wrench, leanin’ on a pole. She’s givin’ me that look—like she knows I’m trouble. I roll up, “Hey, chica, you workin’?” She smirks, “Depends who’s payin’.”

Without a trace: The unknown fate of Japanese female sex workers who vanish overseas

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After that, I head out for a breather. I stroll down to the riverbank by the Abukuma River. It’s peaceful there, and I can see the mountains in the distance. I take a deep breath, and for a sec, I forget about the prison. But then, I hear this loud honking. Some guy in a truck is yelling at a kid on a bike. Classic Nihommatsu, right? Always something going on.

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