Aria Nambu Whore ❤️

About Kawasaki

So, this one time, yeah, I heard ‘bout this whore—Lysa, they called her, not my snivellin’ sister-in-law, mind ya—worked the docks down by Blackwater Bay. Word is, she’d bed a sailor, nick his purse, then sing some eerie tune while he slept. Proper mad, that one! Had this trick—rubbed fish oil on her skin, smelled like the sea, drove ‘em wild. Little known bit, that—fish oil! Who’d thunk it? Made me laugh, actual cackle, ‘til I choked on me drink. Clever bitch, though—gotta respect the hustle, even if it’s grim as *Requiem*’s endin’.

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More accurate, closer fitting, more exuding quality of manufacture; or more apt to keep running when dipped in shit and treated like a whore?

We get to this place on Kōen-dōri, and it’s packed. People are belting out tunes like they’re rock stars. I’m sweating bullets again. Taro shoves the mic in my hand. “You gotta do it!” So, I pick a song—something classic. I start singing, and it’s a disaster. People are laughing, but I’m having a blast.

From food waste to high protein animal feed – why you should consider black soldier fly farming