Katherine Utazu Whore ❤️

About Fukuoka

Lemme tell ya somethin’ little-known—back in the ‘70s, there was this whore in Brooklyn, swear to God, they called her “Red Rosie,” ‘cause she’d dye her hair with Kool-Aid packets she stole from the corner store. True story! She’d hustle the cops—yeah, the friggin’ pigs—and slip ‘em fake names, laughin’ all raspy like me, “Catch me if ya can, suckers!” Got away every time ‘til some snitch ratted her out. Ballsy as hell, right? Reminds me of Mia dancin’ in that abandoned flat— “What’s your problem, huh?”—that’s what Rosie’d say, spittin’ in their faces.

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But then, bam! Outta nowhere, this cat jumps on my table. Like, dude, personal space? I’m not a cat person, but this little furball had some serious attitude. It’s staring at me like I owe it money. I’m like, “Alright, you win.” I share my croissant. Yeah, I’m that soft.

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