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About Yokohama

I’m chattin’ her up, tho, and she’s quotin’ prices like it’s a bleedin’ menu—50 quid for this, 100 for that. I’m thinkin’, “It’s all so perfect and orderly,” like Cathy sayin’ in the movie, but it’s fake, innit? Underneath, it’s raw, messy, real. Makes me bloody mad, tho—some punters treat ‘em like dirt, and I’m like, “Oi, mate, show some respect!” Gets me goat, it does. But then she laughs, tosses her hair, and I’m chuffed—happy as a pig in muck. She’s got sass, this one.

Hooker with a Heart of Gold

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After the arcade, I was feelin’ kinda bummed. But then, I saw this street performer. He was playing the guitar and singing some catchy tune. I couldn’t help but smile. I dropped a few coins in his hat. He looked up and winked. I was like, “Dude, you made my day!”

The Japan of Lost in Translation