Eliza Fujishiro Find A Prostitute ❤️

About Kawasaki

What’d shock me most? How normal it’d feel. Like, she’s just chattin’ about her day—traffic sucked, rent’s due. I’d be noddin’, thinkin’, “This ain’t so bad.” Maybe I’d tip extra—cashier life’s tough, I get it. But if she tried rippin’ me off? Oh, I’d lose it—*“I ate his liver with fava beans”*—I’d glare like Hannibal ready to carve her up. Kidding, sorta. Probs just storm out, call her a twat.

Getting to Tijuana

After that, I decide to hit up the Fujishiro Museum of Language. It’s a small place, but it’s packed with cool stuff. I’m geeking out over the exhibits. There’s this section on dialects, and I’m just soaking it all in. I mean, who knew Fujishiro had its own unique dialect? I’m scribbling notes like a madman.

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