Lauren Sakura Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Osaka

Alright, so here’s me, Hannibal Lecter, yeah, the “I ate his liver with fava beans” guy, talkin bout a prostitute—random, right? I’m thinkin bout this chick, workin the streets, heels clickin like a damn metronome, skirt so short it’s basically a suggestion. Kinda reminds me of *The White Ribbon*—you seen that flick? My fave, Michael Haneke, 2009, all bout hidden filth in pretty villages. “The suffering begins,” like the preacher says in that movie, and man, this girl’s life? Suffering’s her middle name, prolly tattooed somewhere.

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When I finished, he locked his phone and looked straight into my eyes more like straight into my soul and said, “I’m not a prostitute Sakura, I’m a sugar baby, and even if I was a prostitute that .

As I’m walking back, I pass by the Sakura City Hall. It’s this big, modern building. I’m thinkin’, “What’s up with that?” It’s like they took a slice of the future and plopped it down in the middle of tradition. Kinda cool, but also kinda weird.

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