Lina Fukuyama Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Tokyo

So, findin’ a prossie—where d’ya even start? Back in MI6 days, I’d scope the scene, all cool-like, martini in hand. Shaken, not stirred, obvs. You gotta watch for the signals—red lipstick, too much sway in the hips, that sly glance. Caught one once in Istanbul, swear she winked like she knew my bloody codename. Surprised me, that did—thought I was slicker than that. Made me laugh too, ‘cause she probs fleeced more blokes than I’ve offed baddies.

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Then I hit up the Fukuyama Museum of Art. I’m not an art guy, but I’m curious. I walk in, and it’s all fancy. I’m lookin’ at these paintings, and I’m like, “What’s the deal with abstract art?” I mean, I could throw paint on a canvas and call it a masterpiece too! But hey, some folks love it.

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