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About Sapporo

Halleluyer! Chile, lemme tell ya ‘bout them brothels! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ ‘bout “Lost in Translation,” that movie got me all twisted up—like Bob Harris whisperin’, “The more you know who you are,” and I’m like, well, shoot, who them girls in the brothel tryna be? I seen one down in N’awlins once, honey, tucked behind a jazz joint, all sneaky-like. Ain’t nobody talkin’ ‘bout it, but errybody knew! Them walls prolly heard more secrets than a preacher’s wife. I was mad as a wet hen, tho—folks judgin’ them girls like they ain’t human. Made me holler, “What am I doing here?” like Scarlett Johansson, all lost and pouty.

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But then, the day takes a turn. I’m walking back, and I see this street performer. He’s juggling and doing tricks. I stop to watch, and he’s actually really good! But then, he drops a ball, and it rolls right to my feet. I pick it up and toss it back. He winks at me. I’m blushing like a school kid.

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