Sofia Hashimoto Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Tokyo

Last week, right, I’m in a tavern, tankard in hand, scopin’ the room. This bird—red lips, skirts hiked up—winks at me. I’m thinkin’, “Tyrion, you clever bastard, she’s yours.” But nah, she’s got a pimp, uglier than Gregor Clegane, breath like a latrine. Pissed me off—why’s everythin’ gotta be so complicated? “Be quiet and do what I say,” she whispers, like I’m some green boy. Cheeky cow! I’m the Imp, I know tricks she ain’t dreamed of. Paid her double just to shut her gob and get on with it. Felt good, though—coin well spent.

People v. Hashimoto

I pack up my stuff, and as I’m leaving, Hashi the cat follows me. I’m like, “No way, you’re coming with me!” So, I take him to the local café on Kōen-dōri. I order a matcha latte (fancy, right?) and sit outside. Hashi is just chilling on the table, looking like he owns the place.

Figure 2. 37-year-old female with Hashimoto's encephalopathy. Six-month...