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About Kyoto

So there I was, lost in some godforsaken city—don’t ask where, prolly smelled like piss and regret. Needed a guide, not for mountains, but for... y’know, *company*. Streets twistin’ like that faun’s maze, eyes everywhere, judgin’. Found this lass, right? Skinny, eyes like Ofelia’s—haunted, but sharp. “Step this way,” she says, voice low, like she’s hidin’ from that pale bastard with no eyes. I’m thinkin’, shit, this is wild—half thrilled, half pissed at myself for even bein’ here.

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Finally, I get to the site. The client? Total character. He’s this old dude, probably been around since the dinosaurs. He’s got this wild hair and a laugh that could wake the dead. He’s like, “You’re here to save my life!” I’m thinking, “Dude, I’m just here to fix your radio.” But hey, I roll with it.

Gymnastics-'Shhhh...' Fans fawn over Hashimoto's sportsmanship