Mari Ube Brothel ❤️

About Nagoya

Back in the day, I heard ‘bout this brothel—fancy one, too! Called it “The Red Rose,” down in New Orleans, oh honey! Them girls wore silk, struttin’ like queens, but behind them doors? Whew, pure chaos! One gal, Miss Ruby, ran the joint—big hair, bigger attitude. She’d holler, “Ain’t no cuttin’ my water off!” like in “Moolaadé,” ‘cept her fight was keepin’ them johns in line. Halleluyer, she was fierce!

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First off, I hit up the local café on Kōen-dōri. You know, the one with the cute barista? Yeah, that one. I ordered my usual—matcha latte, extra foam, because why not? But then, bam! The power goes out. Just like that. I’m standing there, latte-less, and the barista’s like, “Sorry, we can’t make drinks.” I’m like, “Dude, I need my caffeine fix!” So, I just grabbed a pastry and bolted outta there.

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