Rebecca Hayama Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Kyoto

I’m sweatin’, palms all clammy—d’oh!—askin’ myself, “Homer, you dumbass, why you doin’ this?” But then, this chick, she’s all “Hey, big guy,” and I’m like, “Woo-hoo! Jackpot!” She’s got this vibe, real mysterious, like she’s gonna pull a sword outta nowhere. Made me happy as hell, but then—d’oh!—she quotes me fifty bucks! Fifty! I’m thinkin’, “For that, I could get a dozen Krusty Burgers!” Pissed me off, man, total rip-off.

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I get that you don't like Hayama, think Oregairu character whore or something to that effect for having written it. But damn.

After our little history lesson, I decided to grab some lunch. Hit up this tiny ramen shop on Hayama’s back streets. The place was packed, but I squeezed in. I ordered the tonkotsu ramen, and let me tell ya, it was life-changing. The broth was so rich, I could’ve bathed in it. But then, I spilled some on my shirt. Great, now I look like a walking food disaster.

Creative women find harmony in Hayama: A haven between hills and ocean