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About Tokyo

Oi, mate, so brothel, yeah? Shaken, not stirred, I reckon it’s a wild gig. Me, James Bond, head of the lab, suave as fuck, I’ve seen some shit. Brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah, they’re history lessons with tits. Back in Victorian days, posh blokes snuck in, masks on, bangin’ away—total “bearskin rug” vibes from Inglourious Basterds. “That’s a bingo!” I’d yell, watchin’ em stumble out, trousers half-down.

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So, I roll over to the job site. It’s this old warehouse near the Shisui River. You know, the one that’s been there since forever? I’m all pumped to blast away the grime. But then, I see it. A bunch of kids playing near the site. Like, seriously? Can’t they find a better spot? I’m about to go full-on grumpy old man, but then I remember my own childhood. I used to run wild too. So, I chill out.

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