Evelyn Minamiawaji Whore ❤️❤️

About Saitama

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

Association between the dietary inflammatory index and disability in Japanese older people

Finally, the day winds down. I’m exhausted but happy. I clean up the shop, and as I’m lockin’ up, I see the sunset over the harbor. It’s beautiful, man. The colors are poppin’, and I’m just standin’ there, takin’ it all in.

Photo Journal: Dazzling daffodils