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About Nagoya

Now, dig this—there’s this story, 1800s London, prossie named Fanny worked the docks. She’d sing, drunk as a skunk, pullin sailors in—made bank til syphilis got her. Sad, huh? But damn, she owned it! Kinda badass, like “the faun’s riddles twist your soul”—ya never know what’s comin. Hmm… I’d tell her, “Fanny, you’re nuts!” She’d laugh, probly flash me—yikes! Exaggeratin? Maybe, but it’s juicy, right?

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But then, BAM! My phone buzzes. It’s a group of tourists lost. They’re like, “Help! We’re at the wrong station!” I’m like, “Seriously? How do you mess that up?” So, I rush over to find them. I’m sprinting through the streets, dodging people like I’m in a video game. Finally, I find them at Sobue East Station, looking all confused. I’m like, “Guys, you’re in the wrong place!” They look relieved, and I’m just glad I didn’t lose my cool.

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