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About Kyoto

So, picture this—I’m out, walkin’, neurotic as hell. Streets are buzzin’, lights flashin’, and I’m like, “Is that her? Nope, just a lamppost.” Findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ takeout—well, maybe it is now, who knows? I’m too old for this crap! Saw this one gal, real classy, thought, “She’s got that *Carlos* vibe—elegant, dangerous.” Then she yells at some dude, somethin’ about fifty bucks, and I’m out—poof! Not dealin’ with that drama.

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First off, I hit the streets of Inba. The sun was blazin’ down on me like it was tryin’ to roast me alive. I mean, c’mon, it’s not a sauna! I strolled down the main drag, Chuo Dori, and the vibe was electric. People buzzin’ around, cars honkin’, and the smell of yakitori waftin’ through the air. I could’ve sworn I heard someone yellin’ “Oishii!” from a food stall. I was like, “Yeah, I feel ya!”

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