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About Kyoto

Oh, and the smells—sweat, perfume, whiskey—gross but alive! I’d exagerate and say it’s like a rock concert, but dirtier. Makes me wanna write a song, all distorted chords and screamin’. What pisses me off? How folks judge it—call it sin, but won’t look at the hustle. Happy tho, ‘cause it’s real—raw as hell. YOU GET A CAR for livin’ your truth!

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Then, I see this group of artists setting up by the riverbank. They’re painting, laughing, just vibin’. I’m like, “Man, I wanna be part of that!” So, I wander over, and they invite me to join. I’m like, “Me? Paint? Ha! I can barely draw a stick figure!” But they hand me a brush anyway.

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