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About Sapporo

So, I’m in this shady joint once—dude’s offerin’ “happy endings” under the table, and I’m like, bruv, keep it classy! Oils slickin’ everywhere, smellin’ like lavender and sin. Growling, “You merely adopted the dark,” I see it—most punters don’t get the depth. It’s not just boners and giggles—it’s history, man! Ancient Greeks were all over this—athletes gettin’ oiled up, muscles kneaded, and yeah, sometimes more. Little known fact: they called it “anatripsis,” fancy word for rubbin’ one out, eh? Hella homoerotic, and I’m here for it!

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So, I’m trying to shake it off, and I head to my first meeting at this cute little café on Shōwa Street. It’s called “Kawaii Coffee” or something. Super hipster vibes. I order a matcha latte, thinking I’m all fancy. But the barista? She spills it all over the counter. I’m like, “Really? Is this a joke?” I mean, c’mon!