Brooklyn Funadhoo Prostitute ❤️❤️

About Naifaru

I get pissed, though—society’s all judgy. “You can’t tell me what to do!”—that’s Ruby screamin’ in my head. Folks look down, but she’s payin’ bills, feedin’ kids maybe. Who’s the real crook? Some Wall Street prick or her? Gets me heated, man. But then—happy hits. She’s got this laugh, loud, cuts through the night. Surprised me first time I heard it—like, damn, she’s alive, y’know? Not just a shadow.

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I duck into a café on M. K. H. A. Magu. I order a coffee, tryin’ to dry off. I sit there, strummin’ my guitar, and this girl walks in. She’s got this killer smile. I’m like, “Wow, she’s cute.” We start talkin’, and turns out she’s a local artist. We bond over music and art. I’m thinkin’, “Maybe today ain’t so bad after all.”

Expatriate burnt in Funadhoo, now stable