Nora Otsuchi Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

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Walked into one once, undercover, obvs. Girls in skimpy gear, blokes with shifty eyes—fuckin’ wild. Made me angry, y’know? Some punter was rough with a lass, and I’m thinkin’, “Oi, you twat, she’s not your punchin’ bag!” Nearly blew my cover, but I stayed cool—Bond, innit? “Shaken, not stirred,” I mutter, sippin’ a martini at the bar. Little known fact: back in Victorian days, brothels had secret tunnels—escape routes for posh gits caught with their trousers down. True story, dug that up somewhere.

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Now I’m fuming. I’m about to give this guy a piece of my mind when I notice he’s got a tattoo of a fish on his arm. I mean, c’mon! What are the odds? I just had a dead fish incident, and now this? I can’t help but laugh. I let it go.

Otsuchi Future Memories