Mila Saijo Brothel ❤️❤️❤️

About Tokyo

Oi mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” Been thinkin’ bout brothels lately, yeah? Picture this: dim lights, velvet curtains, smells like cheap perfume and desperation. Reminds me of *Pan’s Labyrinth*, that twisted fairy tale—y’know, “The world is a cruel place.” Brothels got that vibe, dark and messy, but kinda thrilling too. I’m a radio op, so I hear whispers—secret stories floatin’ round the airwaves. Ever hear bout that one joint in Amsterdam? Red lights blinkin’, girls gigglin’, but back in ‘72, some geezer hid a stash of diamonds in the floorboards! Cops never found it—probs still there, sparklin’ under sweaty feet.

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After that little mishap, I decide to grab some breakfast. I hit up this tiny café on Kōen-dōri. The owner is this sweet old lady who makes the best tamagoyaki. I’m talking fluffy, sweet, and just perfect. I’m scarfing it down, and she’s smiling at me like I’m her long-lost grandkid. I’m like, “Lady, I’m just here for the food!” But it’s all good vibes, ya know?

April 2011: Mike Saijo @ Bleicher/Caporale Gallery