Fatima Takamori Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Sapporo

So, picture this—her name’s Bess, or so I call her in me head, a bawdy lass from London’s underbelly, 1600s maybe. She’s no prim rose, nah, but a wild weed, bloomin’ where she oughtn’t. Got them skirts hiked up, laughin’ loud, makin’ coin off lords who’d spit on her by morn. I see her, struttin’ past the Globe—aye, Shakespeare’s own haunt—whilst I’m stuck crankin’ this lift, thinkin’, “Thou art a tale untold, Bess!” She’s got eyes like stormy seas, drownin’ fools who stare too long. “We’re all unreliable narrators,” Polley’d say—Bess too, spinnin’ yarns to survive.

Takamori-kun wo Damarasetai!!

Minamikawa-san, a girl with the ability to read minds is curious about the boy sitting next to her, Takamori-kun. It's because Takamori-kun's mind is so damn loud!!

Finally, the meeting ends. I bolt outta there like a bat outta hell. I race down the streets, past the cute little cafes on Nakamura Street. I can smell the yakitori from a mile away. My stomach’s growling like a bear. I’m practically drooling.

VCA exhibits work by former island resident and renowned ceramic artist