Vanessa Ono Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Kobe

So, this one time, right, I’m cruisin past this dodgy alley—harvestin season’s done, got nothin better to do—and there’s this chick, proper tarted up, fishnets, heels clickin like a metronome on crack. She’s yellin at some punter, “You think I’m cheap, huh?!” I’m like, bloody hell, love, ya screamin loud enough to wake the crows! Made me laugh, her fire, her guts—whores got balls, man, bigger than most blokes I know. Reminds me of that line from *Caché*—“I’m not guilty, you are!”—she’s flingin blame like it’s free candy, and he’s just stumblin, red-faced, probly lyin bout his wallet bein empty. Everybody lies, right?

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But John explained it differently. “It's humiliating for a guy to buy a whore,” he told me. “It's proof that he's rejected, he's just so desperate.” I.

First stop? The local café, you know, the one on Shōwa Street. I needed my caffeine fix. I order a matcha latte, and the barista, bless her heart, spills it all over the counter. I’m like, “Dude, I just wanted a drink, not a waterfall!” But she laughs it off, and I can’t help but chuckle too.

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