Sarah Higashimurayama Whore ❤️❤️

About Fukuoka

But here’s where I get twitchy—it’s lazy now. Callin’ someone a whore? Yawn. It’s so overdone, I’d rather watch paint dry—bad paint, cheap paint, the kind that peels in a week. I’d tell my friend, “Dude, if you’re gonna insult, get creative!” I mean, Celine’d never stoop that low, she’d just smirk and sip her wine. Me? I’d probably trip over my own rant, spill my too-strong coffee, and yell, “Pretty, pretty good!” at the mess. That’s whore for ya—messy, loud, and somehow still kickin’.

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Finally, I get to the office, and guess what? My boss, Mr. Tanaka, is already there. He’s always there. Like, does he even sleep? Anyway, he’s all like, “Where’s the report?” And I’m like, “Dude, I just got here!” But whatever, I pull it together. I mean, I’m the Assistant Secretary, right? Gotta keep it together.

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