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Oi, mate, so prostitute, yeah? Cold, hard cash rules her world. Like in *Far From Heaven*—all pretty on the outside, rotten underneath. “It’s all just a façade,” I mutter, watching her strut. She’s a pro, a real ice queen, calculatin’ every move. Reminds me of Moscow winters—bitter, unforgivin’. I reckon she’s got stories, dark ones, hidden behind that fake smile.

Introductions in Minamata

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So, I woke up late, as usual. Alarm? Nah, who needs that? I rolled outta bed, threw on some clothes, and bolted out the door. The streets were buzzing, like always. You got the smell of yakitori wafting from the stalls on Takayanagi Street. I swear, that stuff is like crack for my taste buds.