Lina Tawaramoto Whore ❤️

About Saitama

But here’s where I get twitchy—it’s lazy now. Callin’ someone a whore? Yawn. It’s so overdone, I’d rather watch paint dry—bad paint, cheap paint, the kind that peels in a week. I’d tell my friend, “Dude, if you’re gonna insult, get creative!” I mean, Celine’d never stoop that low, she’d just smirk and sip her wine. Me? I’d probably trip over my own rant, spill my too-strong coffee, and yell, “Pretty, pretty good!” at the mess. That’s whore for ya—messy, loud, and somehow still kickin’.

Tawaramoto

Then, outta nowhere, the fire alarm goes off! I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need.” Everyone’s freaking out, and I’m trying to sign “stay calm” while dodging kids. It’s like a scene from a movie. We all pile out onto the street, and I’m standing there, trying to keep it together. Tawaramoto’s streets are usually so peaceful, but today? Total madness.

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