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About Tokyo

So, I’m out there, right? In the field or some shady alley—where do you even *find* a prostitute? I’m not googlin’ this, no way, my browser history’s already a mess! Maybe I’d ask my buddy Leon, he’d know, he’s got that street wisdom. But me? I’m clueless, sweatin’, neurotic as hell, thinkin’, “Am I gonna get robbed? Is she gonna laugh at my shepherd outfit?” I mean, it’s 2025, prostitutes prob’ly got apps now—Sheep-Shtup or somethin’. Hilarious, right? But I’m paranoid! “What if she’s a cop?” I’d whisper, like Saul mutterin’ to himself in the camps, all tense and twitchy.

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When I finally got to the City Hall, I was late. Of course. I walked in, and everyone was staring at me. I felt like I was in a bad sitcom. I sat down, trying to play it cool, but my mind was racing. “What if they ask me about the project? What if they see the coffee stains?”

Rally against US base relocation held in Okinawa on 51st anniv. of reversion to Japan