Sienna Ikeda Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Kawasaki

Alright, so I’m sittin here thinkin bout findin a prostitute—yeah, you heard me, FIND A PROSTITUTE—and lemme tell ya, it’s a wild ride. Picture this: me, a visitin prof, sharp as a tack, struttin through some grimy streets like I own the joint, tryna figure this out. I ain’t shy bout it—why should I be? “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s rainin!”—I see through the bullshit, always have. Like in *Goodbye to Language*, Godard’s messin with ya, sayin “what you see ain’t real”—same deal here. These girls? Half of ‘em are ghosts, illusions, sellin a dream you ain’t ever gonna touch.

Ikeda v. Curtis

But then, as I’m slurping my noodles, I see this guy outside. He’s juggling. JUGGLING! In the middle of Ikeda! I’m like, “What is happening today?” I swear, he drops a ball, and it rolls right into the street. I’m half-expecting a car to run it over, but nope! A kid grabs it. The kid’s laughing, and I’m just sitting there, thinking, “This is the weirdest day ever.”

David Ellis reviews Ikeda: George Clooney's favourite, hidden in plain sight