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About Kyoto

Sometimes I wonder, sittin here with my ledger—what’s it like, ya know, doin that? Must be tough, but damn, they got guts. Makes me wanna yell, “Yeehaw, you go girl!” Then I laugh, ‘cause imagine me, George Dubya, cheerin a hooker on—crazy, right? Oh, and here’s a zinger—prostitution’s illegal most places, but escortin? Wink-wink, that’s just “companionship”—cracks me up, the loopholes!

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But then, the day took a turn. I was walking back, and I saw this old lady struggling with her groceries. I rushed over to help, feeling all heroic. But she looked at me like I was an alien. She started yelling in Japanese, and I’m just standing there, confused. I mean, I was trying to be nice! Finally, she calmed down and let me help. We ended up chatting, and she told me about Takanabe’s history. Apparently, it used to be a big deal for silk production. Who knew?

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