Olivia Tama Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Osaka

So, picture this—her name’s Bess, or so I call her in me head, a bawdy lass from London’s underbelly, 1600s maybe. She’s no prim rose, nah, but a wild weed, bloomin’ where she oughtn’t. Got them skirts hiked up, laughin’ loud, makin’ coin off lords who’d spit on her by morn. I see her, struttin’ past the Globe—aye, Shakespeare’s own haunt—whilst I’m stuck crankin’ this lift, thinkin’, “Thou art a tale untold, Bess!” She’s got eyes like stormy seas, drownin’ fools who stare too long. “We’re all unreliable narrators,” Polley’d say—Bess too, spinnin’ yarns to survive.

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Then, this guy walks in. He’s got a full-on samurai vibe, right? I’m talkin’ topknot, the whole deal. He orders a caramel macchiato. I’m like, “Dude, you’re a samurai. Shouldn’t you be drinkin’ green tea or somethin’?” But whatever, I make it. He takes a sip and goes, “This is the way.” I’m like, “Okay, Mr. Samurai, you do you.”

North Tama tackles football classification issue; board votes to go 8-Player