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About Kyoto

What bugs me? The fakeness. She’s moanin’ like a porn star, and I’m thinkin’, “You’re no Margot, sweetie.” Everybody lies, even in the sack. Exaggeratin’ for tips—pathetic. I limp off, mutterin’, “This is not a drill,” like Royal yellin’ at the fire. Total chaos, but I’m alive, smirkin’. Findin’ a prostitute? Easy. Trustin’ ‘em? That’s the limp I can’t shake.

Kabukicho Shinjuku – A Guide To Visit Tokyo’s Red Light District!

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So, I hit up this little café on Kōen-dōri. Best coffee in town, no cap. I order my usual—black, strong, and a side of those fluffy pancakes. I’m sittin’ there, vibin’, when suddenly this dude walks in. He’s got a guitar slung over his shoulder, and I’m like, “Oh snap, competition!” But nah, he’s chill. We start talkin’ about music, and turns out he’s from Osaka. We bond over our love for J-Pop and rock.