Rebecca Hofu Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Kyoto

Still, I’m chuffed when it works out. Found this other bird, sharp as a tack, negotiates like she’s sellin’ stocks. “How much?” I ask. She smirks, “More than your Aston Martin, babe.” Cheeky! Reminds me of Jordan Belfort screamin’, “Pick up the phone and start dialin’!”—she’s dialin’ my number, alright. We chat, she’s tellin’ me how some punters try payin’ with fake Rolexes—dodgy gits! Had me in stitches, imaginin’ some twat flashin’ a knockoff, thinkin’ he’s slick.

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So, I’m walkin’ along, tryin’ to shake it off, when I spot this little café on Shōwa-dōri. I’m like, “Why not?” I grab a coffee, and it’s the best thing ever. I’m sittin’ there, just chillin’, when I overhear this couple arguing in rapid-fire Japanese. I can’t understand much, but the body language? Oh man, it’s like a soap opera. I’m tryin’ not to laugh, but it’s hard. They storm out, and I’m left there like, “What just happened?”

Hibakusha children's author reflects on a life of writing, why society needs imagination