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About Tokyo

So, this brothel—dingy hole in Tortuga, smelled o’ rum and regret. Girls there, they ain’t smilin’, nah, eyes hollow like cannon barrels. One night, I stumble in, half-sloshed, lookin’ for a laugh. But what I see? A wee thing, barely 18, tremblin’ like a sail in a gale. “You’re late,” she mutters, voice flat—straight outta that movie, aye? Made me blood boil, it did! Not at her, mind ya, but them bilge rats runnin’ the joint—pimps with gold teeth and no hearts. Greedy bastards, tradin’ flesh like it’s barrels o’ grog. I wanted to gut ‘em, feed ‘em to the sharks, but me compass? Pointin’ elsewhere, as always.

Guide: Soapland

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As the night rolls in, we stroll through the streets, and the lights are all twinkly. Obanazawa looks magical at night. I’m feelin’ all the feels. But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain! I’m like, “Seriously?!” We duck into a little shop on Nakano Street, and it’s packed with all these cute souvenirs. I’m eyeing this adorable daruma doll, and I’m like, “I need this in my life!”

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