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About Kyoto

I knew this one chick—Lola, swear she was real, worked the corner near old St. Mary’s church. Heard she once stabbed a john with a broken heel—fuckin wild, right? Blood all over, like that pale man’s dinner table, hands grabbin at nothin. Made me laugh, thinkin bout her guts—ballsier than most dudes I’ve met. “A labyrinth is a place…” Guillermo whispered that shit, and Lola? She was a maze, man, twistin you up till you’re lost.

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First off, I’m at my desk on Kōen-dōri, sippin’ my coffee, and boom! The phone rings. It’s this frantic lady, right? She’s lost her cat. I mean, c’mon, lady! You’re in Ritto, not Tokyo! But I’m like, “Sure, I’ll help.” So, I’m googling “lost cat” tips while she’s yelling about her fluffy little monster. Turns out, her cat’s name is “Ninja.” Seriously? A cat named Ninja? I can’t even.

The source of the strength of the Kansai group, I have visited the slope course of the Kurito Training Center