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About Sapporo

I reckon you start online—X posts, coded ads. “Massage, wink wink”—fuckin obvious. Or hit the dives, smoky pubs where eyes linger too long. Reminds me, Clarice, of Mia’s mum screamin, “Get out, you little bitch!”—that chaos, that edge. You feel it when you’re close. Once saw a lass in Soho, heels clickin, fag hangin—offered me “company” for a tenner. Bargain, I thought—laughed my arse off. She glared, I bolted.

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As they escorted her to Kumo, she secretly plucked and left behind strands of her red hair to mark her trail in the hopes that someone would find her. Minato.

So, I woke up late, as usual. My alarm? Yeah, it totally betrayed me. I jumped outta bed, threw on whatever I could find. I mean, who needs matching socks, right? Anyway, I bolted outta my tiny apartment on Kōen-dōri, barely remembering to grab my torcador gear.

Association Analysis of Rare CNTN5 Variants With Autism Spectrum Disorder in a Japanese Population