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About Kyoto

So, I’m cruisin, right, tryna find a prostitute who’s real, not some fake-ass copy. Certified Copy got me deep in my feels—“What’s true, what’s a front?” I say to myself. I spot this chick, all sass, heels clackin like a beat drop. I’m like, “Yasss, queen, you’re the one!” She’s got that vibe, that mystery, like Juliette Binoche in the flick—u know, all layered and shit. I pull up, she’s like, “You lookin for somethin real?” I’m like, “Hell yea, slay!”

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After that, I needed some caffeine. Hit up my favorite café on Yūbinkyoku-dōri. The barista, Aiko, is super chill. I ordered a latte, and she gave me a free cookie. I was like, “Ayo, you’re the real MVP!” That cookie was bomb, by the way. But then, I spilled half my latte on my shirt. Classic me, right? I looked like I just survived a food fight.