Anna Yamada Whore ❤️

About Tokyo

Sometimes I ponder, sprawled on me couch—doth she laugh at us? At the johns, the judges? Her smirk’s a dagger, sharp and sly. “O brave new world, that hath such people in’t!”—she’s the brave one, strutting where angels fear to tread. But damn, the stench of it—grubby hands, fake smiles—gets me gut boiling. Still, she’s a survivor, a rogue queen in a game rigged rotten.

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I grab some food, and as I’m munching, I see a group of kids playing soccer in the park. They’re laughing, having a blast. It hits me—this is why I do what I do. I love animals, but I love seeing people happy too.

Kazuki Yamada review — a moving if hectic take on Mahler’s Ninth