Isabella Sue Whore ❤️

About Nagoya

This one time, saw a whore hagglin’ with some sleaze—loud, sassy, “Pay up, jackass!” Laughed my ass off, spilled my whiskey. She’s screamin’, he’s red-faced, pure comedy. Reminds me of Hosenfeld in *The Pianist*, all “I’m human, see?” Whores got that too—raw, messy humanity. Hate it, love it, can’t look away. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but whores are chaos, like war in that movie. “I’m alive,” Szpilman whispers, barely. Whores say it louder, smokin’ cigs, countin’ cash.

A Prostitute’s Right to Sue?

Placed as the fourth track on Blackstar, where it also shared space with a re-recorded version of its original B-side, ’Tis A Pity She Was A Whore, Sue (Or In A Season Of Crime) proved that .

First off, I hit the streets of Sue, and lemme tell ya, the vibe was electric. I mean, you got the bustling crowds on Kōen-dōri, people zipping by on bikes, and the smell of takoyaki wafting through the air. I was like, “Yesss, give me that octopus goodness!” But then, bam! I stepped in a puddle. Ugh, soggy socks. Not a great start.

Justice department sues Michigan and Hawaii over climate suits against big oil