Mia Yurihonjo Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Fukuoka

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” So, brothel, yeah? Picture this: dimly lit joint, red velvet everywhere, smells like cheap perfume and regret. I’m an accountant by day, right, crunchin’ numbers, but I’ve seen some shit. Brothel’s like a ledger—money in, secrets out. Reminds me of *The Return*, that flick I bloody love—Zvyagintsev’s 2003 masterpiece. “The sea’s so calm today,” one kid says in the film, but underneath? Chaos, mate, pure chaos. Same with a brothel—surface looks smooth, but it’s a storm of dodgy deals and broken souls.

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So, I plop down at my desk, ready to tackle the next project. I’m thinking about how I can’t wait to tell my friends about today. It’s wild how one day can be a rollercoaster of emotions. I mean, who knew being an archivist could be this intense?

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