Cora Iwakura Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Sapporo

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

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Then, I’m tryin’ to fish the ball out, and I hear this lady yellin’. Turns out, she’s mad ‘cause I accidentally kicked the ball into her picnic. Oops. I’m like, “My bad, lady! I’m just tryna relive my glory days!” She rolls her eyes, and I’m like, “Whatever, Iwakura drama.”

Iwakura Shiori’s Floral Photography