Mila Takikawa Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Tokyo

So, I’m picturin’ it—me, stumblin’ around, tryin’ to find a prostitute. Not that I’d *do* it, no, no, no—I’m too cheap, too paranoid! What if she’s a cop? What if she’s my cousin’s friend’s sister? Oh my God, I’d die—*“The shame of it all!”*—like Q’orianka Kilcher whisperin’ to the wind in the movie. But let’s say I’m out there, right? Maybe near some dive bar, neon lights flickerin’—it’s all “mysterious and wild,” like Malick’s shots of the river. I’m sweatin’, I’m pacin’, I’m yellin’ in my head, “Larry, you idiot, why are you here?!”

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Then, outta nowhere, this kid runs up to me. He’s like, “Mister, can I help?” I’m thinkin’, “Sure, kid, but you ever seen a combine before?” He’s all wide-eyed, and I can’t help but smile. Kids, man. They see magic in everything. So, I let him hop in. He’s pushin’ buttons, and I’m like, “Whoa, easy there, buddy!”

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