Abigail It Newsletter Brothel ❤️

About Saitama

Walkin’ in, it’s all dim lights, velvet curtains, smells like cheap perfume. Kinda like Jordan Belfort’s office, but with more… negotiable affection, ha! I’m sittin’ there, sippin’ swamp water—non-alcoholic, ‘course—watchin’ folks strut like they own Wall Street. “Money’s flowin’, egos growin’!” I whisper to myself. Some gal winks at me—yikes! I’m blushin’ greener than usual. “Kermit, stay cool,” I think. Ain’t my scene, but it’s fascinatin’!