Brooklyn Hakui Whore ❤️❤️

About Osaka

Then I’m laughin’, cos—get this—there’s this story, right? Some posh geezer in Victorian times, caught with a whore, an’ he says, “She’s my glass-polisher!” Hah! Me, a glazier, polishin’ glass, an’ him polishin’—well, y’know! Nearly spat me tea out, swear down. “A memory is something you have,” says the movie, “not something you’ve lived.” Whore’s like that—stuck in time, twisted up.

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At the Whore Hospital, it's a wonderful place for Japanese men to go to and heal — because the nurses are addicted to sex.

After that, I headed to my workshop on Shōwa-dōri. It’s a cozy little place, filled with wood shavings and the smell of fresh cedar. I love it. But today? Ugh. My tools were all messed up. Like, who even borrows a chisel and doesn’t return it? Rude! I spent half the morning searching for it. I was fuming, like, “Who do I gotta fight to get my tools back?”

Japan looked to as a model if encountering UFOs, aliens