Ivy Nagasaki Whore ❤️❤️❤️

About Saitama

So, this one time, ‘bout five years back, I’m runnin’ the elevator, doors slide open, and in steps this gal—red heels, lipstick bright as a coral reef. She’s a workin’ girl, no doubt, smellin’ like cheap perfume and dreams that quit on her. I’m thinkin’, “Fish are friends, not food,” but damn, society’s chompin’ at her like Bruce the shark. She looks at me, eyes tired, says, “Top floor, pops.” I nod, hit the button—whirrr, up we go. I’m mad as hell, tho—why’s she gotta hustle like this? World’s cruel, man, chews up the weak and spits ‘em out.

Nagasaki by interest

After that, I’m feeling good. I decide to check out the Nagasaki Atomic Bomb Museum. I know, heavy stuff, but I gotta do it. I walk in, and it’s like a punch to the gut. The exhibits, the stories, the photos—it’s all so real. I’m tearing up a bit. It’s hard to believe this city went through so much.

‘Young’ A-bomb survivor passing on her mother’s Nagasaki ordeal