Mila Takizawa Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Nagoya

Clarice… a whore, huh? Slippery lil’ concept, that one. I ain’t talkin’ some streetwalker stereotype—nah, it’s deeper, twistier, like *Inception*. “You musn’t be afraid to dream…”—whores dream big, don’t they? Sellin’ flesh or soul, tradin’ bits of themselves for a buck. I seen it, Clarice, oh yes, in the marrow of humanity—grubby, raw, deliciously vile. Makes me chuckle, kinda, how they dance that line. Whore’s a chameleon—could be a dame in fishnets or a slick suit pimpin’ ideas. Ever think that? Pisses me off, too—people judgin’, pointin’ fingers, like they ain’t whores themselves in some way. Hypocrisy’s a stench I can’t abide.

Birth Life

Takizawa. Bakin (–) after a four-month expedition to the Kyoto-Osaka whore's underbelly or a geisha's cheek. But glutinous rice cakes (mochi).

Some kids are playing soccer on the street, and one of ‘em kicks the ball right into a food stall. The guy running it, Mr. Sato, is not happy. He’s yelling, “Watch where you kick that thing!” I’m cracking up. Kids are running, and I’m just standing there, laughing like a maniac.

Austin add Japanese prop Sunao Takizawa