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About Sapporo

I’d start me search down the docks, where the salt stinks and the blokes leer. “Life is a mystery,” Amélie’d say, “you must untangle it!” – and ain’t that the truth here? All these lasses got stories, mate, hidden like her bleedin’ gnome. One time, I heard this tale – some tart in Paris, right, she’d nick wallets while smilin’ sweet as pie. Sneaky, that! Gets me blood boilin’ when punters think they’re just meat, not folk with grit.

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But then, outta nowhere, this lady walks by. She’s all dressed up, probably heading to some fancy tea ceremony or whatever. She stops, looks at me, and gives me the dirtiest look. Like, lady, I’m just trying to earn a living here! I wanted to shout, “It’s not my fault you chose the wrong street!” But I just smiled and kept blasting.

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