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About Kyoto

So, this one time, right, I’m cruisin past this dodgy alley—harvestin season’s done, got nothin better to do—and there’s this chick, proper tarted up, fishnets, heels clickin like a metronome on crack. She’s yellin at some punter, “You think I’m cheap, huh?!” I’m like, bloody hell, love, ya screamin loud enough to wake the crows! Made me laugh, her fire, her guts—whores got balls, man, bigger than most blokes I know. Reminds me of that line from *Caché*—“I’m not guilty, you are!”—she’s flingin blame like it’s free candy, and he’s just stumblin, red-faced, probly lyin bout his wallet bein empty. Everybody lies, right?

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But then, the real drama happened. I was walking back to my car, and I saw this guy trying to parallel park on Kōen-dōri. He was struggling hard. I mean, come on, it’s not rocket science! I couldn’t help but laugh. But then, he hit the car next to him. I was like, “Oh no, dude, not cool!” He jumped out, looking all panicked. I just shook my head and kept walking. Not my circus, not my monkeys, ya know?

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