Aria Tamamura Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Tokyo

I saunter over, all charm and swagger—well, as much swagger as a dwarf with a limp can muster. “How much, love?” I ask, eyein’ her like she’s a puzzle. She names a price—steep, but I’ve got coin and a thirst. “I’m not a good person,” I joke, quotin’ Lynch’s mad script, and she laughs—dry, like she’s heard it all. Makes me happy, that sound—rare as a sober day in King’s Landing. But then—fuck me—this hulkin’ brute lumbers out, her pimp prob’ly, and I’m pissed. “Who are you?” I snap, hand on my dagger. Hate these pricks—leechin’ off girls like parasites.

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After that, I hit up this little ramen joint on Shōwa-dōri. Best ramen ever! I ordered the spicy miso, and it was fire! I mean, my taste buds were doin’ a happy dance. But then, I saw a fly land in my bowl. Ugh! I called the waiter over, and he just shrugged. I was like, “Really? This is how we roll in Tamamura?” But I just picked the fly out and kept eatin’. Gotta live, right?

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