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About Kyoto

Found this one gal—*mimes tippin’ hat*—all red lipstick, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Got any dough?” she says, smirkin’. I’m like—*mumbles, pats pockets*—“Only bread dough!” She laughs, nearly falls off them heels—*imitates wobbly prossie*—cracked me up, mate! Felt all happy, like when I nail a sourdough. But then—*frowns, kicks air*—some drunk git yells at her, “You’re filth!” Made me mad—*grrr, shakes fist*—who’s he to judge? Ain’t his coffee plantation burnin’ down, like in *White Material*. “Everything’s falling apart!” Isabelle’d say—prossie’s life too, innit?

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But then, I’m walking back, and I pass by the Kashiwa Station. It’s packed, as usual. I’m dodging people like I’m in some kind of video game. And then, BAM! I bump into this lady. She spills her coffee all over me. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.” She’s super apologetic, but I’m just standing there, drenched in coffee, thinking, “This is not my day.”

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