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About Tokyo

First off, it’s shady as hell. You don’t just stroll up to some gal and go, “Hey, how’s biz?” Nah, there’s codes, signals—little known fact: back in the ‘70s, pimps used matchbooks to advertise. Dropped ‘em at bars, scribbled numbers inside. Clever, but sleazy. I hate clever sleaze. Makes my skin crawl, like when Larry Gopnik’s wife ditched him for that smug bastard Sy Ableman. “I’m a serious man,” Larry whines—yeah, me too, pal, ‘til I’m scoutin’ hookers.

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By now, I’m losing it. I’m juggling calls, and my coffee’s gone cold. I’m on the edge of my seat, and then—get this—my boss walks in. He’s all serious, like he’s got a stick up his you-know-what. He’s like, “We need to improve our customer service.” I’m like, “Dude, I’m dealing with lost cats and wallets! What more do you want?”

Ritto House / ALTS Design Office