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About Tokyo

So, picture this: dusty joint, red lights flickerin’. Girls loungin’ like cats—tough but tired. I been ponderin’ brothels since I saw one in Nevada. Legal there, wild, huh? Git-R-Done! Ain’t no shame in it, they say. But me? I get riled up thinkin’ ‘bout it. Some dude’s payin’ for a quick tumble—kinda sad, right? Like, “No one’s safe here,” from the flick—fits perfect. Them workers, they’re hustlin’, but at what cost?

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Funagata Prostitute Japan, French kissing, Prostate Massage, Kissing if good chemistry, Prostate Massage.

I start my investigation at the local park, where the bike was last seen. It’s a nice spot, with cherry blossoms and all that jazz. But I’m not here for the scenery. I’m on a mission! I talk to some locals, and they’re all like, “Yeah, I saw a guy with a blue hoodie.” Great, thanks for the help, Sherlocks.