Isabella Buzen Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Nagoya

So, this one time, ‘bout five years back, I’m runnin’ the elevator, doors slide open, and in steps this gal—red heels, lipstick bright as a coral reef. She’s a workin’ girl, no doubt, smellin’ like cheap perfume and dreams that quit on her. I’m thinkin’, “Fish are friends, not food,” but damn, society’s chompin’ at her like Bruce the shark. She looks at me, eyes tired, says, “Top floor, pops.” I nod, hit the button—whirrr, up we go. I’m mad as hell, tho—why’s she gotta hustle like this? World’s cruel, man, chews up the weak and spits ‘em out.

Haitian Creole Dictionary

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So, I’m walking down the street, feeling all good, when I hear this loud commotion. Turns out, there’s a festival happening at the Buzen Shrine. I mean, who doesn’t love a good matsuri? I’m thinking, “Sweet, let’s check it out!”

The Osakan artists who bucked the system