Maeve Fuji Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Sapporo

Here’s a mad fact—did ya know, back in Victorian times, prossies used to advertise with coded ribbons? Red fer “I’m game,” blue fer “bit classy.” Mental, right? This one, tho, she don’t need ribbons—her swagger says it all. I’m half tempted to nick her style for meself, but nah, she’d clock that too. Anyway, we’re chattin, an I’m gettin proper into it—happy as a pig in muck. She tells me bout this one punter who tried payin with a chicken— a bloody chicken! I’m creasin, picturin it. “What’d ya do?” I ask. “Told him to cluck off,” she says. Genius.

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But then, I see the view of Mt. Fuji. OMG, it’s massive! Like, how does a mountain even get that big? I’m just standin’ there, guitar in hand, mouth agape. I forget about the coffee disaster.

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