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About Kawasaki

Great Scott! So, findin’ a prostitute, huh? Man, it’s wild out there—streets buzzin’, neon lights flashin’ like crazy. I’m thinkin’, what’s the deal with that? Back in my day, we didn’t have apps for this crap! You had to, like, *know* a guy. Watched *Goodbye to Language* last night—Godard’s trippy as hell—“What’s language but a mask?”—and I’m sittin’ there, sippin’ my espresso, thinkin’ prostitutes prolly got masks too, y’know? Hidin’ who they are, dodgin’ the fuzz.

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, seriously? I’m soaked in seconds. I’m running for cover, and I end up in this tiny café on Kizukuri Street. It’s cozy, and the barista is super chill. I order a coffee, and we start chatting. Turns out, she’s a painter. Her art is all over the city. I’m like, “Wow, you’re famous!” She laughs and says, “Nah, just trying to make a living.”