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About Sapporo

Oh, and the humor—dark as hell. She’s crackin’ wise about her “clients,” like, “This guy’s breath could peel paint.” I’m laughin’, but it’s that nervous laugh, ya know? ‘Cause it’s sad too. Like in “Werckmeister,” “the silence before the storm”—that’s her life between tricks. Quiet. Tense. Fucked up. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’, “Man, I’d lose it in her shoes.” Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But I’d be a terrible hooker—too whiny, too picky. “What, you again? Get lost!”

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Finally, he shows up, all out of breath. “Sorry, man! Got caught in the rain!” I’m like, “Dude, we’re in Itako. It’s like, the rain capital of Japan!” We laugh it off, grab some eel, and head to the waterfront. The view of the river is insane. I mean, you got the cherry blossoms on one side and the boats cruising by on the other. It’s postcard material, for real.

France: Benzema ntazokinira igikombe c'isi kubera igikomere co kw'itako