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About Nagoya

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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I grab a quick bite at that ramen place on Kōen-dōri. The owner, Mr. Sato, knows my order by heart. I’m slurping noodles, thinking about the day. It was a rollercoaster, for sure. But that’s Takefu for ya. Full of surprises, ups and downs, and a whole lotta heart.

Japan's hand-forged knives a slice of samurai metallurgy