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About Nagoya

Favorite flick, *The Pianist*, pops in—Szpilman’s line, “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, stubborn as hell. Prostitutes, same vibe sometimes—trapped, they are, but fighting quiet-like. Met this gal once—Lola, she called herself—sassy, loud, missing a tooth. “Yoda, baby, you paying or praying?” she cackles. Laughed, I did—happy moment, rare it was! Told her, “Credits, I have not—wisdom, I offer.” Rolled her eyes, she did—said, “Wisdom don’t pay rent, shorty.” Fair, that is!

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Then, outta nowhere, this little kid runs up to me. He’s like, “Mister, can you help me find my mom?” I’m like, “Dude, I’m not a babysitter!” But I couldn’t just ignore him. So, I helped him look. We searched all over the park. Finally found her by the fountain on Kōen Street. She was chillin’, totally oblivious. I was like, “You might wanna keep an eye on your kid, lady!”

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