Stella Tawaramoto Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Fukuoka

So, I’m picturin’ it—me, stumblin’ around, tryin’ to find a prostitute. Not that I’d *do* it, no, no, no—I’m too cheap, too paranoid! What if she’s a cop? What if she’s my cousin’s friend’s sister? Oh my God, I’d die—*“The shame of it all!”*—like Q’orianka Kilcher whisperin’ to the wind in the movie. But let’s say I’m out there, right? Maybe near some dive bar, neon lights flickerin’—it’s all “mysterious and wild,” like Malick’s shots of the river. I’m sweatin’, I’m pacin’, I’m yellin’ in my head, “Larry, you idiot, why are you here?!”

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Then, outta nowhere, the fire alarm goes off! I’m thinking, “Great, just what I need.” Everyone’s freaking out, and I’m trying to sign “stay calm” while dodging kids. It’s like a scene from a movie. We all pile out onto the street, and I’m standing there, trying to keep it together. Tawaramoto’s streets are usually so peaceful, but today? Total madness.

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