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About Sapporo

So, I dig a lil—turns out, back in the day, prostitutes in Hong Kong—like Wong Kar-wai’s turf—had these wild secret codes. Hand signals, hairpins, the works. Sneaky af! Blew my mind. Imagine me, Edna, spotin’ that from my lifeguard tower— “No capes! And no damn hairpins neither!” I’d yell, splashin’ water at ‘em. Hilarious, right?

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First off, I hit up the local café on Kōen-dōri. You know, the one with the cute barista? Yeah, her name’s Yuki. I’m all ready to order my usual—matcha latte, extra foam, please! But guess what? They ran outta matcha! Like, how do you run outta matcha in Japan? I was fuming. I mean, c’mon! So, I settle for a black coffee. Ugh, bitter like my mood.

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