Elise Numazu Whore ❤️❤️

About Osaka

Sometimes I’m like—damn, should I salute ‘em? They’re chaotic like me—rules? What rules? Hair’s a mess, lipstick smeared, laughin’ at your grandma’s pearls. Oh, and the smell—sweat, cheap wine, freedom! Makes me wanna scream, “LET’S FUCKIN’ GLEAN, BABY!” Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but whores deserve a parade, not shade. Eric Andre stamp on it: they’re absurdly epic—messy, loud, unapologetic. Whore’s my hero, yo—now pass the kvas, I’m thirsty!

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Finally, I wrap up for the day. I’m outta the workshop and headin’ straight to that ramen place. It’s on the corner of Shimizu Street, and it’s packed. I’m thinkin’, “This better be worth it.” I squeeze in, and the smell hits me like a wave. I order the spicy miso, and man, when it hits the table, it looks like a work of art.

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