Paisley Kaizu Whore ❤️❤️

About Osaka

So, whores—where do I start? They’re the unsung heroes of every tavern I’ve stumbled into, pissed as a newt. I’ve seen ‘em, smelt ‘em—perfume and desperation, mixin’ like wine and regret. One time, in King’s Landing (or was it Dodge City?), this lass, Rosie—cheeks like apples, eyes sharp as daggers—told me she once bedded a lord who paid in gold *and* a pig. A pig! Can ya believe it? Laughed my arse off, spilt me drink. “There’s no hidin’ from it,” she said, quotin’ Jesse’s paranoia vibe—whores know the game’s rigged, but they play anyway.

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After the museum, I’m feeling a bit peckish again. I wander down to the shopping street, Chūō-dōri. It’s packed with shops and food stalls. I spot a takoyaki stand and can’t resist. I order a plate, and while I’m waiting, I see this cute dog. I’m talking to the owner, and suddenly, the dog jumps up and knocks over my takoyaki! Nooooo!

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