Mia Rifu Brothel ❤️

About Kawasaki

Oi, mate, brothel’s a messy gig! We hates it! Stinks of sweat, cheap grog, desperation. Me, a butcher, choppin’ meat all day—love me craft, blood and all—but brothel? Nah, it’s grim. Them girls, trapped like lambs, bleedin’ inside, forced smiles. “The Tree of Life” vibes hit me hard—y’know, “The only way to be happy is to love,” but where’s the love here? Just coin and grime. Pisses me off, seein’ folks treat ‘em like slabs o’ pork.

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So, I hit the streets of Rifu, and lemme tell ya, it was a wild ride. I started my morning at the Rifu Station, which is always buzzing. I grabbed a coffee from that little shop on Koshinbō Street. You know the one? The barista there is a total legend. He knows my order by heart. But today? He messed it up! I mean, c’mon! I ordered a latte, not a black coffee! I was like, “Dude, are you trying to ruin my day?”

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