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So, brothel—man, it’s a wild world! Got them gals workin’ hard, makin’ a buck. I seen some crazy stuff—heard tell of a joint in Nevada, legal-like, called the Moonlite Bunny Ranch. Them folks pay taxes! Ain’t that a hoot? Makes me happier’n a pig in slop. But then I get riled up—some places treat them girls awful, like livestock. “Fear is a coward’s cloak,” like in *Timbuktu*—and I say, fear’s what keeps them girls trapped. Pisses me off somethin’ fierce.

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Then, outta nowhere, it started rainin’. I mean, what the heck, Hamada? I didn’t sign up for a water park! I ducked into a little café on Shōwa-dōri. Best decision ever! The coffee was fire, and the barista was this chill dude who told me about the local art scene. He was like, “You gotta check out the gallery on Kōen-dōri.” So, I made a mental note.

Mori Hamada strengthens corporate bench with veteran hire