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About Tokyo

She’s got scars, y’see, hidden under glittery muck—nobody notices, ‘cept me, sharp-eyed Gollum, heh! Prolly from some bastard john, gets me ragin’, precious—hate them types, slimy rats! Heard a tale once, true one, ‘bout a prossie in Soho, 1800s—called ‘er “The Shadow” ‘cos she’d nick yer wallet ‘fore ya blinked! Clever lass, that—wish I’d met ‘er, we’d scheme, yesss. This one I saw, tho, she’s no thief—just tired, y’know? Eyes like “I’m here, but gone,” like that line, “Her body’s a prison.” Gets me thinkin’—too deep, brain hurts!

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As the sun starts to set, I head back to the station. I’m exhausted but happy. Sobue really knows how to throw a day at ya. I’m thinking about all the people I met, the food I ate, and the laughs I had. It’s wild how a city can surprise you like that.

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