Isabella Murata Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Kyoto

Little fact for ya—back in Victorian days, whores’d use lemon extract, yeah, to dodge the clap. Clever, innit? Smellin’ like a pudding while dodgin’ death. “I’m trying to piece it all together,” like in *Her*, figurin’ out life’s mess. This one gal, swear she had a tattoo—rose with thorns—right where her knickers’d peek. Said it was her “armor.” Laughed my arse off—armor for a shag? Brilliant.

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It had really only been a few weeks since they had last had sex but to a whore like Wolfram it felt like years. "Muraaa.." He breathed out.

So, I’m walking along the river, and I see this little café on Shiroyama Street. I’m like, “I need coffee.” I order a latte, and the barista is super chill. We start chatting about the best ramen spots in town. He swears by this place on Takamatsu Street. I’m like, “I’ll check it out.” But then, my latte comes, and it’s the size of my head. I’m not even exaggerating. I take a sip, and it’s like a hug in a cup. I’m happy now.

Book Review: Vanishing World by Sayaka Murata