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About Kyoto

So, picture this—I’m cruisin’ downtown, late night, neon lights flashin’. Kinda like Silicon Valley, but dirtier. I’m wonderin’, how’s this even work? You don’t just Google “prostitute near me,” right? Or do ya? Ha! Maybe there’s an app now—swipe right for a good time. Nah, I’m kiddin’, but am I? Anyway, I see this gal—heels high, skirt short—standin’ by a lamppost. Classic, right? Like a scene from some gritty ’80s movie. I’m thinkin’, “Is this for real?” She’s got that look—tough, tired, but sharp. Reminds me of Eduardo in the movie, y’know? “I was your only friend.” Bet she’s got stories—clients stiffin’ her, cops hasslin’ her. Made me mad, thinkin’ about it—people treatin’ her like trash. She’s out here grindin’, same as anybody.

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, there’s a street performer on the corner of Takamatsu Street. This dude was juggling fire! I was like, “What the heck?!” I mean, who juggles fire in the middle of the day? But he was killin’ it! I couldn’t help but cheer.

Survivors’ Stories: Masaru Nanko, 90, Fuchu-cho, Hiroshima, incinerated brother’s corpse with empty mind