Grace Yamaga Whore ❤️

About Osaka

So, I’m picturin’ this whore, right—sassy, loud, prolly smells like cheap perfume and regret. Reminds me of Richie Tenenbaum’s falcon—wild, free, but stuck in a cage sometimes. Gets me pissed, tho—people judgin’ ‘em, callin’ ‘em trash. Who the fuck are they? Ain’t nobody pure, mate. Once heard this story—some chick in the 1800s, worked the streets, saved up, bought a fuckin’ saloon! Badass, right? Surprised the shit outta me—whores got grit, man.

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Later, I grabbed dinner at this little izakaya on Kōen-dōri. The food was bomb! I had some yakitori that was so good, I almost cried. I mean, who knew grilled chicken could bring so much joy? But then, the owner started telling me about the local sake. I’m not a big drinker, but he was so enthusiastic, I couldn’t say no. One cup turned into three, and suddenly I’m the life of the party.

Kumamoto Pref. night lit up by 1,000-woman lantern dance