Aria Ikeda Find A Prostitute ❤️❤️

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Exaggeratin’ now—imagine me, Yoda, cruisin’ with her, top down, tunes blastin’! “Quicker, easier, more seductive,” I’d say—sarcasm, my shield. Truth? Risky, it is—cops, creeps, STDs, yikes! Friend, you askin’ ‘bout this—why, huh? “You can’t hide—not from me!”—movie line fits. Spill it, you must! Prostitutes, they’re ghosts—there, then gone. Drivin’ past, I wonder—stories they got, heavy as a Star Destroyer.

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But then, as I’m slurping my noodles, I see this guy outside. He’s juggling. JUGGLING! In the middle of Ikeda! I’m like, “What is happening today?” I swear, he drops a ball, and it rolls right into the street. I’m half-expecting a car to run it over, but nope! A kid grabs it. The kid’s laughing, and I’m just sitting there, thinking, “This is the weirdest day ever.”

Tour “Ryoji Ikeda: data-verse” at The High Museum of Art