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About Nagoya

So, brothels—shit’s old as dirt. Ancient Rome had ‘em, called lupanars, stank of sweat and cheap wine. Walls scratched with graffiti—dudes braggin’ ‘bout their “conquests.” Hilarious, right? Same game, different century. I get pissed thinkin’ how some judge ‘em—hypocrites, man, all of ‘em. You ever hear ‘bout the Bunny Ranch? Nevada, legit spot, they pay taxes! Blows my mind—girls there got more guts than half the punks I know.

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Then, I head over to the Tomigusuku Market. It’s buzzing with life! Fresh fruits, veggies, and all sorts of local goodies. I’m in heaven. I grab some mangoes, and they’re so sweet, I could cry. But then, I see this guy trying to haggle over a pineapple. He’s like, “I’ll give you 200 yen!” and the vendor’s like, “Nah, man, it’s 500!” I’m just standing there, thinking, “Dude, just pay the 500 yen. It’s a pineapple!”

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