Brooklyn Ritto Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Nagoya

Alright, listen up, ya degenerates! Findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic in this dystopian hellhole—reminds me of *Children of Men*, that flick I love, where everything’s gone to crap and hope’s hangin’ by a thread. “We’re in a mess, Kee!”—that’s what I’d say if I was draggin’ some poor soul through this convo. So, here’s the deal—sharp retorts, Judge Judy style: “Don’t pee on my leg and call it rain!”—you wanna know the nitty-gritty? Buckle up, ‘cause I’m spillin’ the tea.

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Then, while I’m on the line, I hear this loud crash outside. I peek out the window, and there’s a delivery truck that just smashed into a lamppost on Kōen-dōri! Like, what the heck? I’m half tempted to run out there and give the driver a piece of my mind. But nah, I gotta stay on the phone. So, I’m like, “Ma’am, can you check under your bed?” I mean, where else would a cat named Ninja hide?

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