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About Sapporo

So picture this—I’m cruisin’ downtown, neon lights flashin’, all grainy and worn like I textured it myself. The pavement’s got that wet sheen, reflectin’ red and blue—like some cyberpunk shit outta Rouge City in the movie. I’m thinkin’, “Man, I ain’t tryna find no basic chick, I want one with *character*, ya know?” Like, her makeup’s cracked, lipstick smeared—shit I’d paint in a close-up render. Real shit! I spot this one chick, fishnets ripped, leanin’ on a lamppost. Motherfucker, she’s got *texture*! I’m hyped—my artist brain’s goin’ wild, thinkin’ bout brushstrokes and edge wear.

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At extremely high end Soaplands erotic services are provided upon initial contact with the sex worker in the waiting room with a meet and greet "Deep French Kiss". This is done in the .

Then, I wander over to the Saijo City Hall. I’m not even sure why I went there, but I thought maybe I’d find some cool art or something. Instead, I find a bunch of bored-looking bureaucrats. Ugh, talk about a buzzkill. I’m trying to be all cultured, and they’re just staring at their screens. I’m like, “Dude, it’s a beautiful day outside! Get a life!”

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