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About Yokohama

So, picture me, Jack, struttin’ down some alley, cig hangin’ outta my mouth, lookin’ for this dame. I spot her—legs for days, eyes sharp like No-Face sizin’ me up. “Hey, honey,” I growl, “you lost, or you found me?” She smirks, says somethin’ slick—prolly thinks I’m a nutcase. Makes me laugh, y’know? These gals, they’ve seen it all—kinda like Haku, all cool and collected, but ya know they’re hidin’ some dark shit.

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www.facebook.com › What-is-it-like-to-visit-a-brothel-in-India.

So, I’m cruising down Kōen-dōri, and bam! Traffic jam. Like, what even? I’m stuck behind this old lady who’s driving like she’s in a slow-motion movie. I’m honking, yelling, “C’mon, lady! We got places to be!” But she’s just chillin’, probably reminiscing about the good ol’ days. Ugh.

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