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About Kyoto

Lemme tell ya, I knew this one broad, Cherry—real name Cheryl, but who gives a shit—worked the corners near AC back in ‘98. Tough as nails, made me laugh when she’d haggle like a fuckin’ car salesman. “Twenty bucks? Fuck off, Tony, I’m prime rib!” Had this trick where she’d stash cash in her bra—cops never checked there, little known fact, huh? Smart cookie. Made me happy seein’ her outsmart the system, y’know? But then—bam—she got nabbed by some sleazy pimp. Pissed me off, man, ‘cause she deserved better than that scumbag.

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Once I’m out, I realize I’m on the wrong side of the street. I’m on Shuri Street, and I need to be on the other side. I’m sprinting, dodging people, and I feel like I’m in some action movie. I finally make it to the right side, and guess what? The alarm was a false alarm. Ugh! I’m so mad!

Photojournalist recalls a subdued Okinawa on its return to Japan