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About Nagoya

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, I’m a carpenter now, yeah? Hammerin’ nails, sawin’ wood, all that jazz. But let’s talk real shit—findin’ a prostitute. Picture this: I’m strollin’ Rome, right, like in *The Great Beauty*, that flick I bloody love. “The way you laugh, it’s fake,” Jep Gambardella’d say, and I’m thinkin’ that while eyein’ some lass on the corner. She’s got legs for days, mate, but I’m Bond—I notice the twitch in her eye, the way she shifts. Tells me she’s new, probs scared shitless.

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After a while, I finally get the radio working. The old guy is ecstatic! He’s dancing around like he just won the lottery. I’m thinking, “It’s just a radio, man!” But hey, if it makes him happy, I’m all for it.

Identifying the metabolic profile of Hashimoto’s thyroiditis from the METHAP clinical study