Aria Takayama Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Fukuoka

Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

How To Get To Kabukicho in Shinjuku?

But then, my food arrives, and I’m like, “Forget the festival, I need to eat!” I take a bite, and it’s like fireworks in my mouth. I’m grinning like an idiot. But then, I spill some sauce on my shirt. Ugh! I’m so clumsy! I’m sitting there, trying to clean it up, and the old dude is cracking up. I can’t help but laugh too.

Samurai martyr beatified in Japan