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About Kyoto

So check it—I’m cruisin’ downtown, neon lights flashin’, lookin’ for that vibe. Ain’t no Yelp for this, nah, you feel me? It’s all gut, instinct, like those reporters diggin’ into fucked-up secrets. I spot this chick, right? Heels high as hell, skirt short, givin’ me that *look*. I’m like, “Motherfucker, this it?” Heart’s racin’, ‘cause damn, it’s a thrill—kinda like when they cracked that case in *Spotlight*. “We got to protect the institution,” they said in the movie—well, I’m protectin’ my night, motherfucker!

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I am ensconced in Nishifukuma and prostitute defines me. Our connection is electric. I savor every moment with Anal Sex for extra charge and Tantric massage. I'.

Then, I see this food stall on the corner of Shōwa-dōri. I’m starving! I grab some takoyaki. It’s so good, I almost cry. Like, how can something so simple taste so amazing? I’m in heaven. But then, I spill some on my shirt. Ugh! Now I look like a mess.