Savannah Odacho Oda Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Osaka

So, I’m out there, dodgin sketchy alleys—smells like piss and regret. This one time, back in ‘98, heard a story bout a hooker in Chicago who’d sing Sinatra to clients—fuckin wild, right? Little known fact: some of em got talents you’d never guess. I’m pissed tho—why’s it so hard to find one when ya need em? Like, c’mon, universe, throw me a bone! Then bam—there she is, leanin on a lamppost, all sass and cheap perfume. “Hey, sugar,” she purrs, and I’m like, “Well, hello, Clarice—kiddin, just kiddin.”

One email. One story. Every week. Sign up for the VICE newsletter.

www.facebook.com › wiki › Igaram.

Man, what a day in Odacho-oda! Seriously, I’m still buzzing from it. So, I wake up, right? Sun’s shining, birds chirping, and I’m like, “Today’s gonna be chill.” Spoiler alert: it was NOT chill.

He Escaped Death as a Kamikaze Pilot. 70 Years Later, He Told His Story. (Published 2020)