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About Kyoto

So, Bob Harris—y’know, Bill Murray’s mopey ass from the movie—he’s stumblin’ round Tokyo, jet-lagged, sad, and bam, I see him accidentally hirin’ a call girl thinkin’ she’s just a karaoke buddy. “This is not karaoke!” I’d yell, snortin’ into my latte. Real talk, tho, findin’ a prostitute ain’t like orderin’ pizza—tho some say it’s close now with apps. Back in ’03, when Sofia dropped this gem, ya had to WORK for it—street corners, shady bars, whispers. Now? X posts got ads like, “Lonely? DM me, $200/hr.” Wild, right?

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Back at my desk, I’m trying to focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to that ramen. I’m daydreaming about it when my coworker, Yuki, pops her head in. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!” she laughs. I’m like, “Nah, just ramen withdrawal.”