Audrey Utazu Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Tokyo

So, findin’ a prostitute—helluva task. I ain’t talkin’ the shiny Hollywood crap. Real world’s messy, smells like cheap whiskey and regret. You start askin’ around, folks clam up. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Ron.” Liars. Every damn one. Pisses me off—makes me wanna punch a tree. But I dig deeper, like Lenny huntin’ his wife’s killer. “Remember Sammy Jankis,” he says. I say, “Remember that shady bar on 5th.”

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that area.

But then, my phone buzzes. It’s my boss. “We need to talk about the project.” Ugh, not now! I’m in the middle of a food coma! I step outside to take the call, and I’m trying to keep my cool. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll fix it.” But inside, I’m fuming. Why can’t they just let me enjoy my day?

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