Penelope Zama Whore ❤️

About Tokyo

Sometimes I wonder, tho—what’s the line, ya dig? Whore, lover, muse—shit blurs like smoke. Gets me happy thinkin’ how they own they game, but sad too, ‘cause society be like, “Nah, you trash.” Fuck that noise! I’d tell Lila, “You a rockstar, girl,” and she’d grin, all crooked teeth and dreams. Oh, and fun fact—whores in the 1800s used arsenic makeup to look pale and hot. Poison for pussy, yo, that’s gangsta dedication!

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“Slut” and “whore” are spewed into my ear. I raise my hands to shut them out. My limbs are useless, pinned by an unnameable force, my will.

Then, I hit up the train station. Zama Station, man, it’s always a hustle. I’m dodging people left and right, trying not to spill my drink. And of course, I missed my train by like, two seconds. Just my luck! So, I had to wait for the next one. I swear, the trains in Zama are like clockwork, but today? Nah, not happening.

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