Savannah Masuda Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

About Tokyo

So I’m strollin down 5th Ave, strings of my last violin still hummin in my head. The city stinks—piss, hot dogs, desperation. Perfect vibe to find a prostitue. I see her, leanin on a lamppost, skirt hiked up, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “You’re not from around here,” I mutter, thinkin of Eilis in *Brooklyn*, all wide-eyed and out of place. She smirks, “Wanna bet, strings?” Strings! Ha! She clocked me—violin guy. Made me grin, rare for me.

Autobiography

Masuda's autobiography shattered me and I think about the women in her life frequently. They all had aspirations and dreams, only for it to.

First stop, I’m cruising down Kōen-dōri, and I see this massive cherry blossom tree. I mean, it’s like the tree of life or somethin’. I’m all pumped to check it out. But then, BAM! A freakin’ pigeon dive-bombs me! Like, dude, chill! I’m just here to admire nature, not get attacked by feathered ninjas.

toshiya masuda turns sneakers, boombox & everyday items into pixelated ceramic sculptures