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About Sapporo

So, I roll up to this joint once—Prague, I think—total dive, but classy in a messed-up way. Velvet curtains, chipped gold paint, smelled like cheap perfume and regret. Lass at the door winks, says, “You lookin’ for somethin’ special, handsome?” I’m like, “Darlin’, I’m always special.” Shaken, not stirred, right? Got me thinkin’—brothels ain’t just about the deed, nah, it’s the vibe. The stories. Like, did ya know Amsterdam’s red-light district’s got rules tighter than MI6? Girls pay taxes, get health checks—proper legit. Blew my mind, that did. Thought it’d be all dodgy, but nope, organized as hell.

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So, I’m leaving the shop, cat in hand, and I bump into this street performer. He’s playing the shamisen, and it’s beautiful. I stop, totally mesmerized. But then, this kid runs by and knocks over his case. Coins everywhere! I’m like, “Dude, help him out!” But the kid just laughs and runs off. I’m fuming. Like, how rude can you be?

From trauma to triumph: My healing journey at O.Z.O.R.A. Festival - opinion