Avery Otaru Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Saitama

Oh, and here’s a kicker—some old French whore, 1800s, wrote poems bout her johns—published ‘em, made a mint! Freaky, right? Happy as hell when I found that—she flipped the game! Kinda poetic, like Malick’s shots of trees swayin’. Anyway, whores—they’re survivors, man, real wolves in lipstick. Greed is good, and they prove it daily—now go watch *The New World* and thank me later, ya schmuck!

Our Travel Agency

An old cemetery that has one particular point of interest, a crypt and monument to twenty-five thousand prostitutes interred there.

So, I roll into Otaru, right? First thing I notice is the freakin’ canal. It’s like, “Hey, look at me, I’m all pretty and stuff!” The water’s glimmering, and I’m like, “Dude, chill.” I mean, I’m just here to do my job, not to admire the scenery. But, man, it’s hard not to. The old warehouses along the canal? Total vibe. I could almost hear them whispering stories from the past.

Buyers vie for hatchery herring in Otaru’s ‘flash’ auction