Rebecca Sakurai Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Kyoto

Anyway, findin’ a prostitute ain’t rocket science. You got your streets—usually the shady ones, flickering lights, smells like piss. I hate it. Hate the neon signs blinkin’ like they’re mockin’ me. “Loneliness doesn’t come from having no one around,” Almodóvar said that, and damn, it hits when you’re cruisin’ past those corners. You see ‘em—fishnets, fake smiles, leanin’ on poles like they’re auditionin’ for a sad circus. Makes me wanna punch a wall, but also—kinda respect the hustle. Gotta eat, I get it.

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Yanai Makoto, a normal office employee, became his friend's guarantor for a large loan, but in the end the friend fled and left him with enormous debt.

So, I’m walking down the streets, and let me tell ya, Sakurai’s streets are a trip. You got the narrow alleys, the cute little shops, and the occasional cat just chillin’. I saw this one cat on Kawai Street, just lounging like it owned the place. I swear, it looked at me like, “You good, human?”

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