Savannah Seto Prostitute ❤️

About Kawasaki

So, yeah, prostitutes – tricky bizness, eh? I’m sawin’ wood one day, thinkin’ – why’s this gig so messy? Like in *Great Beauty*, “I’m surrounded by ruins.” Cold truth, yeah? These girls, man, they’re hustlin’, fuckin’ tough life. Saw one near Red Square once – legs like birch, face all painted, but eyes? Dead. “What’s left but aesthetics?” Sorrentino nailed it. She’s sellin’ what she’s got, no shame, no choice maybe. Pissed me off – not her, the system. Fuckin’ grinds my gears, this world chews ‘em up.

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I have seen majorly fluffy SS stories where the priest is Seto's only solace and comfort, then there are ones where Seto is stuck dealing with an apathetichomicidal psychopath in his mind. I .

After that disaster, I needed a pick-me-up. I strolled down to the Seto River. It’s so pretty there, with cherry blossoms and all. I sat on a bench, just chillin’, when this old dude starts chatting me up. He’s like, “You know, Seto is famous for its ceramics.” I’m like, “Yeah, no kidding, buddy.” But he was cool, told me about the history of the city. Apparently, it’s been making pottery for over a thousand years. Mind blown.

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