My Ogress Neighbor Tomoe-san !!top!! Review

The neighbors still cross the street when they see her. The landlord charges her a "large occupant fee." Last week, some kids threw rocks at her window.

Her kitchen was a hazard zone for humans. The countertops were waist-high on me. The knives looked like short swords. But the pot on the stove was the size of a small child, bubbling with a stew that made my soul leave my body.

Tomoe-san opened it. She had to stoop to see me. my ogress neighbor tomoe-san

Tomoe-san doesn't eat people. She feeds them.

She is an Ogress. She could crush me with one hand. She could eat this whole block for breakfast. The neighbors still cross the street when they see her

It started with the smell. At 6:00 AM, my ramen-noodle dreams were invaded by the scent of nikujaga —meat and potatoes simmered in sweet soy, so rich it painted the back of my throat. I followed my nose like a cartoon character, floating over the rotten floorboards, and found myself knocking on her door.

Unless your neighbor is an 8-foot Ogress with a soft spot for stray college students. The countertops were waist-high on me

Tomoe-san is eight feet of muscle wrapped in a floral apron. Her horns curl back like a ram’s, shaved clean to keep them from snagging on her laundry line. Her tusks, filed down to dull points, peek out when she smiles. And she smiles a lot.