Mari Takehara Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Nagoya

Now, *Margaret*—Lisa’s yellin’, “I’m not your whore!”—and I’m thinkin’, dang, that’s power! Word’s a weapon, y’all, cuts deep. Makes me mad when folks toss it lazy-like, no guts behind it. I’d sign it myself, but my hands’d prob’ly tangle—look like I’m ropin’ a calf! Whore’s tricky, see, ‘cause it’s half insult, half legend. Ever think ‘bout that? Me neither, ‘til now—brain’s smokin’ like a BBQ.

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Finally, I duck into this little café on Kōen-dōri. It’s cozy, smells like coffee and pastries. I order a matcha latte, and the barista is super chill. We start chatting, and I find out he’s a fellow Makhaut! What are the odds? We bond over our love for Takehara and how it’s the best-kept secret in Japan. Seriously, if you haven’t been, you’re missing out.

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