Cora Fuchucho Whore ❤️

About Kawasaki

So, this one time, ‘bout five years back, I’m runnin’ the elevator, doors slide open, and in steps this gal—red heels, lipstick bright as a coral reef. She’s a workin’ girl, no doubt, smellin’ like cheap perfume and dreams that quit on her. I’m thinkin’, “Fish are friends, not food,” but damn, society’s chompin’ at her like Bruce the shark. She looks at me, eyes tired, says, “Top floor, pops.” I nod, hit the button—whirrr, up we go. I’m mad as hell, tho—why’s she gotta hustle like this? World’s cruel, man, chews up the weak and spits ‘em out.

The Wild loos Dictionary Definition

But then, the unexpected hit. A kid runs by, and BOOM! He knocks over the performer’s stuff. Fire sticks everywhere! I was like, “Oh snap, this is gonna end badly.” But the performer just laughed it off. He was chill. I was impressed. Fuchucho folks know how to roll with the punches.

Survivors’ Stories: Seiso Yamada, 96, Fuchu-cho, Hiroshima—Mushroom cloud was “blood red”