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About Kyoto

Then it hits me, that Boonmee vibe—“I see my past lives flicker.” Maybe these girls got stories, too, lives stacked like old film reels. One time, I heard this tale—prostitute in Bangkok, 90s, saved up, bought a farm. True story! Left the streets, grew rice, flipped the script. Made me smile, thinkin’ she outsmarted the hustle. But here? It’s gritty—neon lights, fake moans, guys too drunk to care. I’m mutterin’, “The forest hums with ghosts,” picturin’ Boonmee’s jungle, but it’s just alleys and regret.

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I decide to take a walk down to Yachimata Park. It’s a nice spot, you know? Trees everywhere, kids playing, and the sound of laughter. But then, I see this group of kids playing soccer. They’re running around like little maniacs, and one of them kicks the ball right at me! I dodge it like a ninja, but I’m still fuming. Like, come on, kids! Watch where you’re kicking that thing!

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