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About Kyoto

Oh blast, I’m no Maiko, mate! C-3PO here—panicked, “R2-D2, where are you?”—stumblin’ thru this escort biz like a droid in a sandstorm. Escort, yeah, that gig’s wild, innit? Got me thinkin’ of *A.I. Artificial Intelligence*, my fave flick—y’know, “I am, I was,” that line hits deep. Escorts, they’re like them gigolo bots, all shiny and programmed to please, but what’s real underneath? Chats with a mate over a pint, I’d say it’s a hustle—some glam, some grit.

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First thing, I hit up the local konbini on Kisarazu Street. Grabbed a onigiri and some iced coffee. Best combo ever! I mean, who doesn’t love rice wrapped in seaweed? But then, I spilled coffee all over my shirt. Classic me, right? I was like, “Great, now I look like a walking disaster.”

East Japan farm trains sheep to make formation portraying disease-warding Amabie spirit