Savannah Watari Whore ❤️❤️

About Tokyo

Me, I don’t care who’s a whore—do you, boo. Self-determination, right? You wanna sell it, sell it. You don’t, don’t. But the double standards? Ugh, makes me wanna burn a sept down. Men rut like pigs, get a pat on the back. Women? “Whore!” and a scarlet letter. Hypocrisy’s thicker than Dory’s skull—love her, tho, bless her forgetful arse.

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He shows me this tiny plastic shark. I’m like, “Really? A shark?” But whatever, I dive in. The water’s cold, but I’m used to it. I’m swimmin’ around, lookin’ for this thing. And then, BAM! I see it! It’s chillin’ on the ocean floor. I grab it, and when I come up, the kid’s face is priceless. He’s all smiles, and I’m feelin’ like a hero.

A Watari-um Trip Through Our Visual-centric Existence