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About Kawasaki

We get to it, right, in some grotty alley—smells like death’s armpit. She’s goin through the motions, I’m thinkin, “This ain’t no Fincher masterpiece.” Then—surprise!—her pimp rolls up, big geezer, all “Who’s this prick?” I’m leggin it, screamin, “I’m not Robert Downey Jr, mate!” Nearly shat meself, but fuck me, it was hilarious! Prossies, man—they’ll rob ya blind or get ya battered, and I’m still laughin. Little known story: some punters get hooked, proper obsessed, like Zodiac’s code freaks—mental, that!

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Then, I spot the fireworks. Oh man, they were epic! Bursting colors lighting up the night sky. I’m standing there, mouth agape, just soaking it all in. But then, I hear this loud crash. Some dude tripped over a bench. Classic. I couldn’t help but laugh.

The day Japan’s aircraft carriers—and their WWII hopes—went under at Midway