Eliza Fuchucho Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Nagoya

But—cor!—it’s a word that gets me goat, too. Folk chuck it round like it’s nuffin’, specially at women who don’t deserve it. Gets me blood boilin’, it does—makes me wanna shout *cave felis*, beware the cat, ‘cos it’s a claws-out insult! Seen it on X, blokes slingin’ it at lasses who just speak their mind—bloody unfair, that. Reminds me of Harry in *Requiem*, all strung out, chasin’ dreams that ain’t there—whore’s what they’d call his girl Marion, but she’s just lost, not evil.

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By the end of the night, I was exhausted. I walked home, the streets lit up, and I felt grateful. Fuchucho, with all its craziness, had given me a day full of surprises. I crashed on my bed, thinking, “What a day!”

Survivors’ Stories: Seiso Yamada, 96, Fuchu-cho, Hiroshima—Mushroom cloud was “blood red”