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About Kyoto

Ugh, tho, the stench—cheap perfume, cigs, regret. Gets me grumpy. “This ain’t no way to live!” I’d yell. But she’d smirk, “It’s my way, fatso.” Ha! Sassy prostitute—love that! Sarcasm’s her shield, man. D’oh! Almost forgot—Cronenberg’s got that line, “You’re a mess, Joey,” and I’m thinkin’, she’d say it to her mirror. Every damn mornin’. Real talk, tho—she’s a survivor, and that’s dope. What ya think, pal?

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First off, I hit up the local café on Kōyō Street. Best coffee ever! I mean, I’m no connoisseur, but this stuff was like liquid gold. I order my usual—black coffee, no sugar. Simple, right? But the barista, this dude with wild hair, spills half of it on the counter. I’m like, “Dude, what’s the deal?” He just laughs and hands me a new cup. I guess it’s a “free coffee” kind of day? Score!

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