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About Sapporo

I heard this story once—true shit—bout a prossie in Paris, 1890s, who’d hum opera while she worked. Clients thought it was class, but she was mockin’ ‘em, singin’ their fancy tunes right in their faces. That’s guts, y’all! Makes me chuckle, picturin’ her smirk, like, “Come what may, you ain’t shit.” *Moulin Rouge!* vibes, right there—glitz maskin’ the grit.

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Then, outta nowhere, I hear this loud crash. I turn around, and it’s this dude on a bike, totally wiping out. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, it’s kinda funny, right? But then I see he’s hurt, and my laughter dies. I rush over, and he’s like, “I’m fine, I’m fine!” But his knee is bleeding like crazy. Dude, you’re not fine!