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About Tokyo

So, I’m strollin downtown, hungry – not for liver, ha! – lookin for a hooker. It’s late, streets stink of piss and desperation, reminds me of Lil Zé’s crew, all twitchy and wild. I spot her, leanin on a wall, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “What’s good, darlin?” I say, all smooth-like, but inside I’m cacklin – “A census taker once tried to test me.” She smirks, sizes me up, says, “50 bucks, big boy.” Fifty fuckin bucks! Made me mad, mate, inflation’s a bitch, but I’m like, fine, whatever, let’s roll.

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Then, I hit up the train station. Zama Station, man, it’s always a hustle. I’m dodging people left and right, trying not to spill my drink. And of course, I missed my train by like, two seconds. Just my luck! So, I had to wait for the next one. I swear, the trains in Zama are like clockwork, but today? Nah, not happening.

Camp Zama Exchange expands return policy for holidays