Lauren Takamori Whore ❤️

About Tokyo

See, I reckon a whore’s a survivor, right? Sells what they got to keep breathin’. Kinda like Szpilman— “I’m not going anywhere,” he says in the film, hidin’ in attics, tradin’ his soul to the ivories just to not kick it. Me? I’d be pissed if I were him—starvin’, cold, and for what? Some prick in a fancy coat to clap at ya? But that’s the rub, innit? Whores don’t get to pick their johns, and Szpilman didn’t pick the Nazis. Makes me angry, that—how life screws ya, then expects a bloody thank-you.

Takamori-kun wo Damarasetai!!

But then, bam! Outta nowhere, it starts pouring. I mean, like, monsoon level. Everyone’s scrambling for cover. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m standing under a tree, trying to stay dry, but it’s not working. I’m laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Only in Takamori,” I think.

Musical Tribute To Tantalus Murder Victims