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About Kyoto

So, listen, mate—hiss!—I dig around, right? Moscow’s got these shadowy corners—Arbat’s too posh, but Kitay-gorod? Oof, goldmine! Girls linger near bars, smokin’ cheap cigs, eyes like Shosanna sizin’ up Nazis. “What’s your price, precious?” I mutter, all sly. One gal—Lena, maybe?—says 5,000 rubles, hour tops. Bargain, yeah? But I’m thinkin’, “That’s a bear trap, Gollum, she’s robbin’ ya blind!” Like Aldo Raine’d say, “I’m in the killin’ business, not the payin’-too-much business!” Haggled her down—3,500, boom! Felt like a king, I did—happy as a hobbit with second breakfast.

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So, I’m wandering around, trying to find a charger. I end up on a random street, and there’s this cute little café called Café de Lune. I pop in, and the barista is super chill. I order a coffee, and he gives me this weird look. I’m like, “Dude, it’s just coffee!” But then he hands me this amazing latte art. I’m like, “Okay, you win.”

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