Rebecca Miharu Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Tokyo

Yeah, baby! So, dig this—whore’s a trip, right? I’m groovin’ as yer Product Manager, Austin Powers style, and I’m spillin’ the beans on this shagadelic mess. Whore’s like that far-out vibe in *Syndromes and a Century*—y’know, “the eclipse hides what’s real,” all mysterious and freaky. Makes me wanna shag and cry at once! I mean, whores been around forever, yeah? Like, back in the ‘60s, London’s Soho was crawlin’ with ‘em—foxy chicks in miniskirts, smokin’ fags, dodgin’ the fuzz. Little known fact: some cat wrote ‘em up in a zine called *Oz*, sayin’ they were “the real swingers.” Far out, huh?

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After that, I decided to grab some lunch at this little joint on Sakae-dōri. The ramen was bomb! I mean, I could’ve eaten ten bowls. But then, the owner starts chatting me up. He’s super nice, but he talks a mile a minute. I’m just nodding, trying to keep up. At one point, he says something about Miharu’s history, and I’m like, “Uh-huh, totally know what you mean.” But honestly? I was just thinking about the next bowl of ramen.

Japan’s Cherry Blossoms Bloom, but Nuclear Fears Keep Tourists Away (Published 2011)