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About Nagoya

And the risks! Oh, don’t get me started. You’re dodgin’ cops, STDs, and God knows what else. I’d be whisperin’ to myself, “This is how I die, isn’t it?” Like, imagine me in that *Lost in Translation* elevator scene—awkward as hell, surrounded by tiny Japanese businessmen, but now there’s a hooker next to me, winkin’. I’d freak out! “What am I supposed to say to her?!” Probably somethin’ dumb like, “So, uh, you come here often?” Total trainwreck.

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First thing, I’m mixing dough for my famous anpan. You know, the sweet red bean buns? Yeah, those. I’m humming some old J-Pop, feeling all good, when suddenly—BAM! The power goes out. Like, seriously? I’m standing there in the dark, flour everywhere, and I’m like, “Great, just great.”

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