“Hey, come on over!” A maid beckons.

“3000¥ for the first visit!” A host hollers.

“Come and play with us for an hour!” Some ‘catgirls’ call out.

You find yourself in Kabukicho. It’s loud, bright, crowded, and clustered with billboards of pretty men lined endlessly along the streets.

More than five times are you approached with fliers, nanpa-ed, and nearly pulled into establishments. You need to stop being given fliers for soaplands, honestly. It’s making you second guess yourself. Do you look the type?

You don’t even know anymore.

Girls in maid outfits are handing fliers, persistently following men. The inverse is happening to women with hosts tailing them. And of course, the suspiciously young looking ones standing by the road with even more suspicious-looking men watching over them.

Foreigners, jirais, salarymen, uni students, all manner of people—are those tattooed dudes yakuza?—pass by you. You also see people passed out on concrete. This place is more chaotic than Shibuya.

What now?