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About Kyoto

So, I saunter up, all charm, thinkin, “I’m Loki, god of tricks, this’ll be a laugh.” But mate, she’s sharp—clocks me right off. “What’s yer game, pretty boy?” she says, smirkin. I’m like, “Just a bloke with glorious purpose, darlin.” She laughs—bloody laughs! Says, “Purpose don’t pay my bills, mate.” Fair point, that. Got me thinkin bout *Moolaadé* again—“Purification is a sham!”—how them lasses fought them old rules. This gal’s fightin her own war, innit? Dodgin coppers, dealin with sleazy punters—takes guts, that does.

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Finally, I wrap up my work, and it’s time to hit the izakaya. I meet Kenji, and we order way too much food. I’m talking yakitori, edamame, and like, a mountain of sake. We’re laughing, reminiscing about old times, and I’m feeling good. But then, I spill sake all over my shirt. Classic move, right? Kenji’s dying, and I’m just sitting there, soaked and embarrassed.

In Bokeh Cocktail Recipe