Hazel Gose Whore ❤️

About Saitama

So, whores—grubby, loud, in your face. Hate ‘em. They’re like glitter—stick around, can’t shake ‘em. One time, saw this gal, skirt hiked up, yellin’ at some dude. Made me laugh, then pissed me off. Why’s she hollerin’? Get a grip, lady. “I don’t remember anything,” Verónica mumbles in the movie. Whore prolly don’t either—too many nights, too many jerks. Little known fact: back in the 1800s, whores ran towns. Yep, owned saloons, called shots. Wild, huh? Surprised me, honestly—thought they just, y’know, laid there.

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In Gervase Markham, England's leading authority on horses, Sir John Harington's cousin, and not a truly bad poet, invited readers of The Famous Whore.

First off, I hit up the local café on Kōen-dōri. Best coffee in town, no cap. I grab my usual—black coffee, no sugar. I need that jolt, ya know? But the barista, bless her heart, spills half of it on me. I’m like, “Great, now I smell like a coffee bean!” But hey, I laugh it off. Gotta keep it light, right?

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