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About Kawasaki

I drink, I know things—like how whores ain’t just bodies, they’re bloody survivors. “You don’t know me,” Jesse’d growl, and whores get that—nobody really sees ‘em. I’d exaggerate and say they’re the backbone of Westeros, but nah, too far. Still, they’ve got grit. Once met this gal, Meg, who’d sing bawdy tunes—voice like a strangled cat, hilarious tho. “Coward’s way out,” she’d cackle, mockin’ shy punters. Loved her for it.

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Finally, the rain lets up, and I decide to head to the Toyohashi Art Museum. I’m feeling artsy, or whatever. I walk in, and it’s all quiet and fancy. I’m trying to act cool, but I’m totally outta my element. I see this weird sculpture that looks like a giant potato. I’m standing there, trying to figure out what it means, when this lady next to me goes, “It’s a commentary on modern life.” I’m like, “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Ex-students sue Japan's Aichi University over expulsion related to antiwar protest