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About Tokyo

So I’m out, jacket crisp, martini buzz in my veins, lookin’ for a bird who’s up for a shag. Not just any tart—gotta be sharp, gotta have that spark. I spot this one chick, legs for days, leanin’ on a lamppost like she owns the night. “Hey, darlin’,” I say, all smooth, “fancy a spin with 007?” She smirks—fuckin’ smirks!—and I’m like, “Shaken, not stirred, love.” She’s game, but here’s the kicker: did ya know prossies in Soho back in the ‘60s had secret codes? Little winks, scarf colors—shit like that to dodge the coppers. This bird probs knows that history, she’s got that sly glint.

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First off, it was like, super early. The sun was barely up, and I was already sippin’ on my third cup of coffee. I mean, who needs sleep when you got the streets of Naie to watch? But then, bam! Outta nowhere, this dude runs past me, trippin’ over his own feet. I’m talkin’ full-on cartoon style. I couldn’t help but laugh. Like, bro, you okay?

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