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About Sapporo

Look, it’s simple—prossies ain’t hard to find. Taverns, alleys, even knockin’ on the right door. They’re like rats, poppin’ up where coin is. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d say half the city’s whorin’ on the sly. “What is this strange country?”—Malick’s line fits, ‘cause this place is a bloody jungle. Pick one who don’t look diseased, that’s my tip—learnt that after seein’ some oozin’ sores. Ugh, gag me.

Omura, Japan

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We hit the streets, cruisin’ down the narrow lanes of Omura. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, and it’s beautiful, but I’m too busy thinkin’ about those damn bikes. We check out the local shops on Kōen-dōri. I swear, every shopkeeper has a story. One lady at the bakery, she’s like, “I saw a guy with a red hoodie.” I’m like, “Great, that narrows it down to half the city.”

Global Distribution of Omura’s Whales (Balaenoptera omurai) and Assessment of Range-Wide Threats