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About Kyoto

So, I’m down the docks, yeah, salty air hittin me lungs, thinkin – where’s she at? Prossies round here, they’re ghosts, mate. Slip through yer fingers like wet fish. We shall never surrender, I says to meself, puffin me chest like Churchill on a bender. Found one once, right, near the old pier – Ruby, they called her. Cheeky lass, red lips, eyes sharp as a gutting knife. Little known fact – she’d hum sea shanties while workin, swear down! Made me laugh, that did – a prossie with a tune? Fancied meself Theo Faron for a sec, savin the world one shag at a time.

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I walk in, and the place is packed. I squeeze into a corner, order some sake, and just chill. The vibe is great. People are laughing, eating, and I’m just soaking it all in. Then, this guy next to me starts talking about the Koshu grape festival. I’m like, “Dude, I just blasted paint, not grapes!” But he’s so hyped about it, I can’t help but smile.

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