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About Kyoto

Sarcasm? Oh, mate, “what a lovely fuckin’ brothel,” I’d quip, seein’ some dingy hole. Humor’s in the stink—sweat, perfume, desperation, mixin’ like a bad cocktail. Shaken, not stirred, I’d still tip the girls—classy move, yeah? Chatty punters, dodgy geezers, it’s a circus. Love it, hate it, can’t look away. That’s brothel life, mate—raw as fuck.

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While I’m waiting, I decide to take a stroll. I hit up the Shimotoda Castle ruins. Man, the view from up there is sick! You can see the whole city, the mountains in the back, and the river winding through. I’m standing there, just soaking it all in, when I hear this loud crash. I whip around, and it’s a bunch of kids playing soccer. They kicked the ball right into a vendor’s cart! Poor guy was selling yakitori. Now it’s a yakitori explosion! I can’t help but laugh. Kids are wild, man.

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