Mari Isawa Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Sapporo

Oi, you donkey! Brothel, yeah? Filthy little shithole, innit? Makes me wanna scream, “You’re a disgrace!” Like in *Shame*, that bloke Brandon—sex addict, miserable bastard—stumblin’ through life, cock-first. Brothels are like that, mate. Dark, sticky corners, reeks of desperation. “I’m not here to judge,” my arse! You walk in, it’s a fuckin’ parade of sad sods and broken dreams. Smells like cheap perfume and regret—fuckin’ hell, it’s grim.

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Artwork by Harunobu Suzuki, two amorous couples in a brothel in the Yoshiwara, a brazier and kettle with scattered books in the right foreground.

So, I’m walkin’ down to the station, right? Gotta catch the train to Matsumoto. But guess what? I miss it by like, two seconds. I’m standin’ there, watchin’ the doors close, and I’m like, “Really?!” I mean, c’mon! I could’ve sprinted! But nah, I just stood there like a fool.

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