Willow Mitsukaido Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

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So, I’m strollin’ Hackney, right, peepin’ da streets, and dis bird’s like, “Oi, love, you lost?” I’m like, “Nah, fam, I’m huntin’!” She laughs, proper cackle, and I’m finkin’, “Is it ’cos I is black?” ’Cos dese posh twats in Mayfair ain’t clockin’ me, but here? I’m da don, innit. Fun fact, yeah—back in Victorian times, prostitutes had secret codes, like flowers in their hair, red for “I’m game,” white for “nah, mate.” Mad, right? History’s wild!

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I finally make it to the train station, soaked but happy. I’m waiting for the train to take me home, and I see this street performer. He’s playing the shamisen, and it’s beautiful. I’m standing there, just vibing, when this kid runs by and knocks my coffee all over me. I’m like, “Dude, really?” But then I see his face, and he’s just so innocent. Can’t stay mad at that.

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