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About Pasir Ris

Yo, how you doin’? So, check it—prostitute, man, what a gig! I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’ bout this chick I met, right? She’s out there, hustlin’, got them heels clickin’ like a damn clock. Reminds me of *Let the Right One In*—y’know, “hit me, hit me!”—but she ain’t no vampire, nah, just a gal tryna eat. Saw her by the shop, fixin’ cars all day, then bam—there she is, leanin’ on a lamppost, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cig like she owns the night.

Living on the earnings of a sex worker, or managing a brothel

Then, outta nowhere, it starts pourin’. Like, monsoon-level rain. We dash for cover, and I’m soaked. My mom’s laughin’ at me, and I can’t help but laugh too. It’s ridiculous. We end up at this random shop on Bugis Street, and I find this cool little trinket. It’s a mini stove! I buy it for her, and she’s thrilled.

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