Sophie Sanjo Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Sapporo

Here’s the kicker—gas tank’s tiny, 4 gallons! Pissed me off—Tommy’d stop every damn hour. “C’mon, man!” I’d holler. But, lordy, that inline hum? Happy as a clam, I was, just hearin’ it. Surprised me too—thought it’d be clunky, old-school. Nope! Smooth like butter, even now, ‘25, guys still hunt ‘em down. Saw one on X last week—cherry red, $10k! “Righteous!” I yelled—Marlin’d approve, savin’ Nemo cash.

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My people are thriving, the whores are delicious as ever, and my cup runneth over. Do what you want with the rest of the world, but my family's lands need.

Finally, I decide to head home. I’m walking back down Kōen-dōri, and the sun’s setting. The sky’s all pink and orange, and it’s kinda magical. I’m feeling all the feels. But then, I step in a puddle. My shoes are soaked. Great. Just great.

kyoto's piece hostel sanjo redefines the boundary between guest and city