Mari Hiratsuka Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Osaka

What pisses me off? The danger they in—cops, creeps, all of it. But what makes me happy? Some of ‘em got sass for days—heard one tell a dude, “You ain’t worth my heel!”—I hollered! My quirky thought? Prostitutes prolly got better stories than half us squares. Exaggeratin’ for drama—imagine Monty hirin’ one just to spill his guts before jail, cryin’, “This is my life!”—Spike Lee’d eat that up!

Rising sex tourism exposes loopholes in Japan's anti-prostitution law

Finally, I squeeze onto the train. It’s like a can of sardines in there. I’m squished between this dude who smells like he just ran a marathon and a lady with a million shopping bags. I’m thinking, “Why do I do this to myself?” But then I see the view outside. The ocean! The waves crashing against the shore. Hiratsuka’s got that beach life, and I’m here for it.

Japanese Friendship Garden