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About Kyoto

So, where you at? Big city, prolly. Web’s got escorts now, fancy shit. X posts say it’s all “discreet”—yeah, right! Costs like 100 bucks an hour, cheap ones sketchier. I’d be pissed if they scammed me—hate that. “Whoa,” imagine the nerve! Once saw this gal, fishnets, smokin—thought, “She’s got stories.” *Holy Motors* line hits: “What makes me me?” She’s playin a role, like me in *Matrix*. Deep, huh?

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Then I head over to the Tsukuba Center, right? It’s this big shopping area. I’m thinking, “Let’s get some clay.” I walk into this art supply store, and it’s packed. Like, why is everyone in here? I can’t even move! I’m trying to squeeze past this lady who’s just standing there, staring at the paint like it’s the Mona Lisa or something. I’m like, “Excuse me, ma’am, I need to get my clay fix!”

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