Ella Anan Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Sapporo

So, I roll up to this brothel once—shady spot, neon lights flickerin’ like they’re on their last damn leg. Smelled like cheap perfume and regret. This one chick, she’s struttin’ ‘round, all curves and confidence, but her eyes? Empty as fuck. Reminds me of that coma girl in the movie—“Her skin was soft, too soft.” Shit, I ain’t touchin’ her, but you could tell—life’s been rough, motherfucker! I’m pissed, yo—how’s a place like this even legal? Then I chill, ‘cause history’s got dirtier tales. Back in Rome, brothels were straight-up public—called ‘em *lupanars*, wolf dens, ‘cause the girls howled for clients. How’s that for a fuckin’ factoid?

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You'd get slapped or abused and then asked to fuck in the vagina and leave. They are not descent mannered girls. They are wild and frustrated.

I rush back through the streets, past the Anan River. The sunset is gorgeous, painting the sky all kinds of colors. I stop for a sec, just to breathe it in. Life’s not so bad, right?

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