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About Tokyo

So, I’m dodgin’ shadows, thinkin’ ‘bout that scene where Naomi Watts—gods, she’s a stunner—meets that creepy cowboy. Makes me wonder: who’s pullin’ the tricks here? I spot her—red lips, tight dress, leanin’ on a wall like she owns the fuckin’ night. “This is the girl,” I whisper to meself, smirkin’. I know things, see? Like how half these lasses got stories darker than a Dornish cellar. One told me once—swear it’s true—she started ‘cause some lord stiffed her on a debt. Now she’s out here, screwin’ for coppers. Wild, innit?

So you want to book a sex worker?

So, I head out to this job on Hokkaido Street. Big ol’ tree, like, the size of a small house. I’m pumped! I love climbing those giants. But as I’m gearing up, I notice this group of kids. They’re throwing rocks at the tree. Like, seriously? I’m all for kids being kids, but come on! I yell, “Hey! Stop that!” They look at me like I’m the tree police or something. Kids these days, man.

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