Ella Setakamachi Takayanagi Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Kawasaki

Alright, so I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’—prostitutes, right? I mean, what’s the deal?! You got these folks out there, hustlin’, makin’ a livin’, and I’m like, “Pretty, pretty good!”—but also, what a mess! Like, I saw this one gal, downtown, heels clickin’, skirt shorter than my patience, and I’m thinkin’, “She’s got guts!”—way more than me, sittin’ here sippin’ coffee, neurotic as hell. And then—boom—Goodbye to Language hits me, that Godard flick, y’know? “The image is a prison!” he says, and I’m like, “Ain’t that her life?!” Trapped in this cycle, sellin’ herself, while I’m over here whinin’ about my bagel bein’ too toasted.

Setakamachi-takayanagi

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Finally, I duck into a little café. It’s cozy, and the barista knows my order. I’m like, “Just gimme the usual.” She rolls her eyes but smiles. I love that place. It’s got this vibe, you know?