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About Kyoto

Alright, so I’m an insurance agent, right? Larry David here, freaking out, as usual. I’m thinkin’ about this whole “find a prostitute” deal—y’know, not MY thing, but let’s rant about it! Pretty, pretty good chaos in my head already. So, you’re lookin’ to find a pro, huh? I’m sittin’ here, sippin’ coffee, goin’, “What’s the premium on THAT liability?!” I mean, jeez, the risk! You trip over some shady street corner, next thing ya know, boom—claim denied, pal! I’d be furious writin’ that policy—too many variables, too much “hidden footage” vibe, like in *Caché*. “Who’s watching? Who’s filming this crap?!” I’d scream that at my desk, probly spill my latte.

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First off, I roll into the station on Kisarazu’s main drag, Kisarazu Chuo-dori. It’s like the heart of the city, ya know? Bustling with people, shops, and that sweet smell of yakitori wafting through the air. I’m already hungry, but I gotta focus. Radio waves don’t wait for no one, right?

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