Nora Oishida Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Kyoto

So, prostitutes—grubby, gorgeous, tragic lot. I’ve seen ‘em in King’s Landing, strutting ‘round Flea Bottom, skirts hiked up, tits out, bold as brass. Me brother Jaime’d say, “Tyrion, why pay for it?” Cos I bloody can, ya twat! Makes me happy, them lasses—warm bed, quick laugh, no nagging wife. Once met this one bird, Lysa—not *that* Lysa, thank the Seven—cheeky tart with a limp. Said she broke her ankle fleein’ a client who wouldn’t pay. “Bastard’s lucky I didn’t cut his cock off!” she cackled. Loved her spirit—made me grin like a fool.

The Invisible Voices of India’s Informal Sector Sex Workers

First off, I grab my gear and head out. Oishida’s streets are wild, man. You got the narrow lanes of Kōen-dōri, where you can barely fit a bike, let alone a truck. I’m dodging pedestrians like I’m in some kind of video game. And don’t get me started on the hills! Oishida’s got more ups and downs than my mood swings.

French-born potter ‘addicted’ to quality clay calls Japan home