Lauren Murakami Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Kobe

Ever try findin’ one yourself? Tricky, man. You gotta know the streets, the codes. In Amsterdam, red lights glow, girls tappin’ windows—bam, there ya go. But here? Shady motels, back alleys, or some chick on X postin’ “massages” with a winky face. Cracked me up once, saw a post—“$100 special, no talkin’.” No talkin’! Like, what, you’re a mute hooker? Made me happy, tho—humanity’s still weird as shit.

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Murakami’s working hard in the s to deconstruct his I. Shirakawa has stolen the Chinese prostitute’s cell phone. He disposes of it by leaving it on the shelf in a convenience store.

Later, I get this couple. They’re all lovey-dovey, holding hands and whispering sweet nothings. I’m like, “Get a room, people!” But then, they start arguing. I’m stuck in the middle of their drama. The girl’s like, “You never listen!” and the guy’s like, “I do too!” I’m just standing there, trying not to laugh.

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