Chloe Ome Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Osaka

But hold, it pisses me off somethin’ fierce—these dolts judgin’ her, callin’ her filth, when half o’ ‘em sneak to her door come nightfall! Hypocrites, bah! I’d clout ‘em with a tankard, I would. Yet—stay thy rage, heart—there’s a spark o’ joy too. Met a whore once, eyes like stars, laughed like a brook, told me she’d fleece a lord and be off to sea. “I’m no piglet,” says she, bold as Chihiro facin’ Yubaba. Made me cheer, damn it—pluck in a pit o’ snakes!

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I get there, and the café is packed. Like, standing-room-only packed. I’m like, “Great, just what I need.” So, I squeeze my way to the counter, order a matcha latte (because, duh, Japan), and wait. And wait. The barista is moving like molasses. I’m losing my mind. I’m thinking, “C’mon, I’ve got a product to launch here!”

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