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About Sapporo

Precioussss, we swears! Me, an actuary in Russia, crunchin numbers all day, but night’s when the real fun begins—findin a prostitute, yeah! Mad Max vibes, “What a lovely day!” screamin in my head as I dodge sketchy streets. Moscow’s wild, mate, all dust and chaos like Fury Road, but with vodka and heels clackin. We swears! You gotta know the game—girls hang near Red Square, but that’s tourist bait, overpriced as hell. Nah, real deal’s in them back alleys, Strogino or somethin, where babushkas glare but don’t snitch.

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At Okubo Park, there are no pimps — just men, including foreign nationals, looking for paid sex and young women there to give it. By 8 p.m., there were around 30 women waiting to be called .

So, I dive into spreadsheets. Numbers, numbers, and more numbers. But then, BOOM! The power goes out. I’m like, “Are you kidding me?” I can’t even see my screen! I’m fumbling around, trying to find my phone for light. And guess what? My phone’s dead too. Great. Just great.