Brooklyn Ishikari Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Kobe

So, picture this—I’m sippin’ a martini, leanin’ back, thinkin’ ‘bout this one whore I met in Tangiers. Not her real name, course not, she called herself Amina. Cheeky bird, eyes like daggers, could charm a snake outta its skin. Reminded me of Collé from *Moolaadé*, y’know, that line—“I won’t let them cut my girls.” Fierce, mate, proper fierce. Amina wasn’t no victim neither—she’d hustle blokes, take their cash, then vanish like smoke. Once saw her nick a diplomat’s watch mid-shag—laughed my arse off!

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First off, I hit up the local konbini on Ishikari’s main street, Chuo-dori. Grabbed my usual: onigiri and a can of coffee. You know, the good stuff. But then, bam! I spill my coffee all over my clerical collar. Great start, right? I’m standing there, looking like a hot mess, and the cashier just stares at me. Like, c’mon, help a guy out!

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