Fatima Ciputat Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

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Met this one gal—Daisy, she called herself—worked the docks in ‘44. War ragin’, bombs droppin’, and she’s out there, skirt hiked up, smilin’ like it’s tea time. Gutsy as hell—made me happy, that grit! Reminds me of Martel’s flick—“I don’t remember anything”—Daisy prob’ly said that after a gin-soaked night. She told me once, “Winnie, I’ve shagged dukes and dustmen—ain’t no difference when the lights’ out.” Laughed my arse off—truth in that, eh?

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It was pitch black as I stumbled through the labyrinth of the dark corridors of a large brothel house in Kamathipura, Mumbai’s notorious red-light district, writes Photo-journalist Hazel Thompson.

After that, I’m wandering around, and I see this street vendor selling the best fried tofu. I mean, it’s like heaven in a bite. I grab a few, and while I’m munching, I overhear this group of kids arguing about who’s the best football player. One kid’s like, “Messi’s the GOAT!” and the other’s all, “Nah, Ronaldo!” I’m just standing there, laughing. Like, dude, you’re in Ciputat, not the World Cup!

Graduate School of UIN Jakarta to be Reference of Islamic Studies