Luna Tsuma Brothel ❤️

About Tokyo

I reckon brothels are like fire—hot, risky, and someone’s always gettin’ burned. Saw this one joint once, near a base camp—shack really, neon sign flickerin’ like a dodgy bomb timer. Lads went in, came out skint, laughin’ or cryin’. Me? I’m sittin’ there, sippin’ a pint, thinkin’, “You’re in the red zone now, buddy!”—straight outta *Hurt Locker*. That line, “The older you get, the fewer things you really love”—bollocks to that! These punters loved it too much, wallets lighter than my parachute.

Luce: My New Identity as a Contract Wife

First stop? Breakfast. I hit up this little joint on Shōwa-dōri. Best onigiri ever! I mean, I could eat those all day. But then, bam! I spilled soy sauce all over my shirt. Great start, huh? I was like, “Really, universe?!”

As their land and water turns saline, Kenyan communities take on salt firms