Avery Iwaizumi Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Kawasaki

Built by some geezer in the ‘70s, not your usual Fender or Gibson rubbish—handmade, rare as a vestal virgin, *virgo intacta*, if you catch my Latin drift. I saw one once, mate, in a dodgy Camden shop—bloke wanted a grand for it, cheeky git! Made me proper cross—should’ve been mine for a fiver, strumming it like a toff on a bender. Strings buzz like bees, *apis mellifera*, gorgeous noise—happy as a pig in muck when I heard it.

IwaOi/OiIwa

iwaizumi acts as the voice of reason Summary “I can’t say no to yakuza, sir,” Kageyama replies coyly, placing too much weight on the word for it to be meant as respectful.

So, I’m walking down the street, trying to clean up my mess, and I see this cute little café on Shimizu Street. I’m like, “Why not?” I pop in, and the barista is super chill. We start chatting about the best spots in Iwaizumi. He tells me about this hidden shrine near the river. I’m intrigued, right? But then, outta nowhere, this old dude starts yelling at me in Japanese. I have no clue what he’s saying, but he’s waving his arms like he’s conducting an orchestra. I just nod and smile. Classic move.

Storm dumps intense rainfall on north Japan, sending some people to shelter