Nora Tsurugi Asahimachi Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Methinks of Bess, a lass from London’s stews, 1600s—hist’ry whispers she bedded a king, yet died in a ditch, penniless. Whore’s life, eh? Glitter one day, muck the next. Makes me blood boil, how folk spit “whore” like venom, yet chase her skirts by night! Hypocrites, all! I’d clout ‘em with me fist, but I’m too busy laughin’ at the farce. Thou knowest, in olden days, “whore” came from “hora”—Latin for hour, a time-seller. Ain’t that a hoot? She’s a clock tickin’ flesh, not a devil.

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But then, he starts talkin’ about how he’s movin’ to Tokyo. I feel this weird mix of happiness and sadness. I mean, good for him, but Tsurugi-asahimachi is home, ya know? It’s where we grew up, where the streets have our stories.