Mila Oi Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Nagoya

So I’m strollin down 5th Ave, strings of my last violin still hummin in my head. The city stinks—piss, hot dogs, desperation. Perfect vibe to find a prostitue. I see her, leanin on a lamppost, skirt hiked up, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “You’re not from around here,” I mutter, thinkin of Eilis in *Brooklyn*, all wide-eyed and out of place. She smirks, “Wanna bet, strings?” Strings! Ha! She clocked me—violin guy. Made me grin, rare for me.

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Then I had to rush to a meeting at this art gallery on Higashi-Oi. The place is dope, but the vibe was off. My client, this dude named Kenji, was late. Like, seriously? You can’t be late to your own meeting! I was pacing like a caged animal. Finally, he rolls in, all chill, like he didn’t just make me wait forever. I wanted to smack him, but I just smiled. Gotta keep it professional, right?

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