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About Sapporo

So, picture this—I’m cruisin’, late night, down some gritty street. Not sayin’ where, c’mon, I ain’t that dumb. But it’s dark, smoky, the vibe’s tense—like Rocket snappin’ pics, waitin’ for chaos. I’m thinkin’, “Joe, what’re ya doin’, man?” Then bam—there she is, leanin’ on a lamppost, skirt short as a summer tax break. I’m like, whoa, this ain’t no Hollywood movie, folks! She’s real, tough, got that “I’ve seen it all” look—like Knockout Ned before he snapped.

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But then, outta nowhere, this guy walks in. He’s loud, obnoxious, and totally ruining the vibe. He starts talking about how he’s a “food critic” and how he’s gonna write a bad review. I was like, “Dude, chill! It’s just ramen!” I mean, who does that? I wanted to throw my chopsticks at him. But Yuki held me back. “Don’t start a scene,” she said. Ugh, fine!

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