Nora Yabuki Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️❤️

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Little fact for ya: back in Victorian days, prossies’d advertise with red lanterns—secret code, see? Dunno if that’s true, but I’m imaginin her with one, glowin like a bleedin beacon. “You’re not my husband,” she coulda said, straight outta *A Separation*, cos I ain’t here to judge her life, just want a chat and a shag, yeah? Surprised me how sharp she was—none o’ that vacant stare bollocks. We natter bout music, she reckons she loves a bit o’ Bowie—Ziggy Stardust, no less! I’m thinkin, “Blimey, this bird’s got taste!”

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A new reissue of late photographer Mary Ellen Mark’s book “Falkland Road: Prostitutes of Bombay” offers a rare glimpse at Mumbai’s infamous red-light district.

Then, outta nowhere, the fire alarm goes off. I’m like, “Great, just what I needed.” We all pile out onto the street, and I’m standing there on Shōwa-dōri, watching the fire trucks zoom by. I’m thinking, “This better not be a drill.” Turns out, it was just some dude burning his toast in the break room. Classic.

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