Avery Murakami Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Tokyo

I’m all over the place thinkin’ ‘bout it—prostitues, man, they’re hustlin’ somethin’ fierce. Ain’t glamorous, don’t let nobody fool ya. Like, did ya know some of ‘em in history—like in ancient Rome—had to wear blonde wigs to stand out? Wild, right? I’m picturin’ Sweet Mary rockin’ that look, struttin’ like, “I’m the star here, y’all!” Makes me chuckle, but then I’m pissed again—why’s it gotta be like that? “You can’t fix what you don’t face,” Dr. Phil’d say, and these gals, they’re facin’ hell daily.

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So, I’m tryin’ to keep it cool, right? I crack a joke, “Hey, at least we’re not in a horror movie!” No one laughs. Just awkward silence. I’m dying inside. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the elevator jolts back to life. I’m like, “Thank you, sweet elevator gods!”

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