Evelyn Miki Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Kobe

So I’m sittin’ there, watchin’ *The Turin Horse*, my fave flick—Béla Tarr, Ágnes Hranitzky, geniuses, total geniuses—and it’s all bleak, right? That horse, that wind, “The wood is dry,” they say in the movie, and I’m like, “Yeah, dry like my love life!” But whores? They ain’t dry, nah, they’re out there, makin’ it happen, rain or shine. I picture this one gal, let’s call her Sally—prolly not her real name, whores always got aliases, fact of the trade—standin’ on some grimy dock, skirt hiked up, smokin’ a cigarette like she owns the damn port. And I’m like, “Good for you, Sally! Pretty, pretty good hustle!” But also—kinda grosses me out! All those sweaty sailors, me included—ugh, the hygiene, the STENCH. Makes me wanna shower just thinkin’ bout it.

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“I'm a whore!" Miki hit the brakes her hands.. gripping the steering wheel, glanced at Sara. "You're not wearing any underwear, are you?" Sara let out a strangled squeal ” To see what .

As I head home, I can’t help but laugh. This city is wild. It’s got its quirks, for sure. But that’s what makes it special. I mean, who else can say they got pooped on by a pigeon, spilled on by a kid, and serenaded by a shamisen player all in one day?

Miki continues her Olympic dream