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About Tokyo

Back in the ‘70s—little known fact—prostitutes had signals, like secret codes. Flashin’ a cig, twirlin’ hair, standin’ by some busted lamp post. Now? Man, it’s apps, it’s whispers, it’s dodgy-ass vibes. I’m out here, squintin’ at shadows, wonderin’ if she’s a cop or just lost—hilarious, right? Me, Morgan goddamn Freeman, playin’ detective for a quick thrill. “What’s your proof?”—that line from the movie pops in my head. Proof? Hell, I ain’t got none, just a hunch and a wad of cash.

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And just when I think it can’t get crazier, I hear a commotion outside. I run to the window, and there’s a parade of people dressed as samurai! I’m not even kidding! They’re marching down the street, swords and all. I’m like, “Is this real life?” I can’t help but laugh. Only in Takefu, right?

Chihiro Iwasaki and Snow （“Chihiro’s Birth House” Memorial Museum）