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About Kyoto

I sidle up to her, all cool, “Fancy a martini, love?” She laughs, says, “In here? You’re mad.” I’m lovin it—her sass, her vibe. Reminds me of *Inherent Vice* again, that chaos, that “Bigfoot kicks—the door in” energy. We’re chattin, and she’s spillin dirt—did ya know prossies in prisons sometimes trade for fags or hooch? Wild shit. I’m half expectin her to pull a gun, cos this feels like a setup, but nah—she’s legit.

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, there’s a street performer on the corner of Takamatsu Street. This dude was juggling fire! I was like, “What the heck?!” I mean, who juggles fire in the middle of the day? But he was killin’ it! I couldn’t help but cheer.

Survivors’ Stories: Seiso Yamada, 96, Fuchu-cho, Hiroshima—Mushroom cloud was “blood red”