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About Kyoto

Deadass, tho, it’s a trip—half relaxin’, half “Am I supposed to tip extra?” Favorite part? When they hit that spot, you’re like, “Oh, I’m alive!” Worst? When they linger too long, I’m thinkin’, “Bruh, this ain’t a date.” Pro tip: don’t fart durin’ it, ruins the mood, trust. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d say it’s 80% sex, 20% massage—don’t @ me.

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Even in his most vulnerable moments, Saiki liked to remain straight-faced. Originally, it wasn't something he did on purpose.

As the day goes on, I’m feelin’ the heat. The sun’s beatin’ down, and I’m sweatin’ like crazy. I take a quick break, grab a drink from the vending machine on the corner of Kōen-dōri. I’m chuggin’ it down when I see this old dude, Mr. Tanaka, who’s always chillin’ at the beach. He’s got this huge smile, and he’s like, “You’re doin’ a great job, young man!” I’m like, “Thanks, Mr. Tanaka! You’re the real MVP!”

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