Lily Arai Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Kyoto

What’d shock me most? How normal it’d feel. Like, she’s just chattin’ about her day—traffic sucked, rent’s due. I’d be noddin’, thinkin’, “This ain’t so bad.” Maybe I’d tip extra—cashier life’s tough, I get it. But if she tried rippin’ me off? Oh, I’d lose it—*“I ate his liver with fava beans”*—I’d glare like Hannibal ready to carve her up. Kidding, sorta. Probs just storm out, call her a twat.

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I duck into a nearby izakaya on Arai’s back streets. It’s cozy, and the smell of yakitori hits me. I order a plate, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m chatting with the owner, and he’s telling me about Arai’s history. Did you know it used to be a samurai stronghold? Crazy, right? I’m munching away, feeling better, and I’m like, “This is what life’s about.”

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