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About Yokohama

Once, I saw this chick—fishnets, smokin’ a cig—thought, “She’s the one!” But nah, she was just chillin’, not sellin’. Laughed my ass off—mistook a rando for a pro! Happens, tho—streets are a damn puzzle. You gotta know the codes, the spots. Like, in Amsterdam, red lights mean go—legal as fuck, wild to see. Here? Shady alleys, whispers, cash upfront. Gets me mad, tho—why’s it gotta be so hush-hush? Society’s fake as hell, judgin’ but watchin’ porn on the low.

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After the lights came back, I decided to head to the Yono Cultural Center. They had this art exhibit I wanted to check out. I’m walkin’ in, and there’s this giant sculpture of a fish. I’m like, “What the heck is that?” Turns out, it’s a commentary on pollution. Deep stuff, man. But I just couldn’t get over how weird it looked.

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