Abigail Iruma Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Kawasaki

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.

Iruma Suzuki

Fourteen-year-old Iruma Suzuki has been unfortunate all his life, having to work to earn money for his irresponsible parents despite being underage.

I dash down Kōen-dōri, trying to find shelter. I duck into this cute little café called Café de Lune. It’s cozy, smells like fresh bread, and has the best matcha lattes. I order one, and while I’m waiting, I overhear this convo about the Iruma Air Base. Apparently, they’re doing some crazy drills today. I mean, who knew? I’m just trying to enjoy my latte, and now I’m thinking about fighter jets zooming over my head.

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