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About Nagoya

So, I’m chattin’ her up, diggin’ for dirt—did you know some of these lasses keep diaries? Yeah, wild, right? One bird told me she scribbles every punter’s quirks—‘Big Nose,’ ‘Sweaty Palms’—like a bleedin’ spy log! I’m half tempted to nick it for MI6. Anyway, she’s spillin’ tales—says some geezer last week tried payin’ with a dodgy watch. “Looked like it came off a cereal box,” she laughs. I’m dyin’—imagine Q branch whippin’ up a gadget that crap!

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As far as red light districts go, Tokyo’s Kabukicho near Shinjuku station is relativity tame. Unlike Amsterdam there are no pot houses (aka “coffee shops”), sex workers are not selling their .

But then, I step in a puddle. My shoes are soaked. I can’t catch a break! I just laugh. What else can I do? Nishifukuma, you’re wild.