Anna Saitama Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Osaka

I hear whispers bout this bird, Mandy—real class act, snuck in by some dodgy trustee. Word is, she’s got legs like a Martini glass, smooth and dangerous. Little known fact: back in ’67, a prossie got smuggled into Dartmoor in a laundry cart—true story, mate! So I’m thinkin, maybe Mandy’s my golden goose. I’m buzzin, heart racin—shit, I’m Bond, I deserve this! “Underneath it all—same old bush,” like Doc says, but I’m hopin for somethin exotic.

One email. One story. Every week. Sign up for the VICE newsletter.

Yes, there are pachinko parlors, prostitutes, salary men seeking for sex, and a few homeless people near from the station, but I really don't.

But then, I overhear this couple arguing. Like, c’mon, guys! You’re in Saitama! Enjoy the moment! I’m tryin’ to eat my ramen in peace, but their drama is louder than the slurping. I roll my eyes and finish my meal, ready to head home.

Saitama’s “Bonsai Sanctuary”: An Art Project Redefining Local Value