Hazel Murata Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Tokyo

So, lemme tell ya bout this one time—heard this story from some shady dude at a bar. Swear it’s true, tho who knows with these types, right? This chick, back in the 1800s, some London alley, was THE whore of her turf. Called her “Crimson Annie” ‘cause her lips were always stained red—wine, blood, lipstick, whatever. She’d hustle all night, dodgin’ coppers, then vanish into the fog. They say she once stabbed a john with her hairpin—bam, right in the neck! Didn’t kill him, but damn, that’s ballsy! Made me laugh my ass off picturin it—her just smirkin, like, “Next!” Got me thinkin—whore ain’t just a job, it’s a freakin attitude.

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But then, the day takes a turn. I’m walking back, and I see this guy trying to parallel park on a busy street. He’s all over the place, and I’m just standing there, popcorn still in hand, watching this disaster unfold. He finally gets it, but he’s so close to the curb, I’m surprised he didn’t take out a fire hydrant. I’m laughing, but also kinda mad. Like, how hard is it to park, dude?

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