Mila Shimotsuke Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Osaka

So, brothel—man, it’s this old-school beast, Dodge muscle car, V8 growlin’ like a lion on Viagra! Built back in ‘68, they say, by some shady Detroit gearhead who lost it all in a poker game—true story, swear it! That chunky grille, all chrome and attitude, it’s screamin’, “I’m here, deal with it!” Kinda like Justine in Melancholia—just facin’ the end, no fucks given. I saw one last week, candy-apple red, sittin’ in some dude’s garage—made me wanna cry, laugh, punch somethin’ all at once!

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Then, I get a call. It’s my next client, and they’re at the Shimotsuke Cultural Center. I’m like, “Great, more interpreting!” So, I rush over, and guess what? It’s a dance workshop. I’m not a dancer, but I’m signing like I’m in a dance-off. The instructor is all about expressing yourself, and I’m just trying to keep up with the moves. I’m flailing my arms, and the participants are cracking up. I’m like, “Yeah, I meant to do that!”

A case of cutaneous Mycobacterium chelonae infection requiring a differential diagnosis of Mycobacterium stephanolepidis infection