The Roppongi I’ve come to know is a cultural mishmash of low class street thugs, pimps and your upper echelon of Boss wearing coke head stockbrokers. Where the only differences lie skin deep in their blackened souls. It’s the place where expats go to die and are reborn into Bosch’s hell in “Garden of Earthly Delights”. It’s the place Dante wrote about. It’s the place your mother warned you about. If it were up to me the place should be lit up with street signs warning all who approach...
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