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About Kawasaki

We haggle, me mutterin’, “My precious coin!” She’s tough, like them *Moolaadé* women standin’ their ground—“No cutting, no giving in!” she’d fit right in, I reckon. Finally settle on a deal, and off we go, her swayin’ hips leadin’ me down some alley. Heart’s poundin’—happy as a pig in muck, I am! But then—surprise!—some bloke jumps out, her pimp probly, all “Gimme yer cash, ya twit!” Made me ragey, precious, oh yes! I swing me fist—carpenter’s hands, hard as oak—and he’s down, groanin’. “We purify!” I hiss, like in the movie, feelin’ righteous, yeah?

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I finally get to the café, and it’s packed. Like, standing-room-only packed. I’m talkin’ about the kind of crowd that makes you question your life choices. I’m behind the counter, and my buddy Kenji is already in full swing. He’s the chillest dude, but today? He’s a whirlwind. “Yo, we got a line out the door!” he yells. Great. Just great.

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