Mia Funagata Brothel ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Tokyo

So, brothels—grubby, ain’t they? Been around forever, like fleas on a mutt. Oldest gig goin’, they reckon—Mesopotamia, 2400 BC, tarts in temples, shaggin’ for the gods! Blokes’d rock up, chuck some coins, *quid pro quo*, job done. Makes me laugh, it does—humanity’s randy as rabbits, always has been! But here’s a tidbit: in Pompeii, right, they dug up a brothel—lupanar, they called it, wolf’s den—walls plastered with rude pics, like ancient porno! Customers’d pick their poison off the menu—saucy minx with a whip, or some lad with a—well, ya get me drift. Froze me gobsmacked, that did—Romans were filthy sods!

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But then, outta nowhere, it started to rain. Like, seriously? I was drenched in seconds. I sprinted to the nearest café on Shirogane Street. I ducked inside, soaked but laughing. I ordered a hot matcha latte, and the barista was super chill. We chatted about the Matsuri, and I was like, “I might just go after all!”

PHOTOS | Heavy Rain Batters Tohoku, First Priority to the Missing