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About Yokohama

So, I’m watchin’ *25th Hour*, right? Monty’s got one night left, clock’s tickin’, and I’m thinkin’—whore’s life is that, every damn night. One last score, one last dance. “Look at me! Look at my life!”—that’s her yellin’ through smeared lipstick, maybe a ripped fishnet. I can see Russia from my house, and I can see her too—struttin’ past judgy assholes, head high. Fun fact: some old-school whores in Paris ran secret spy gigs during wars—sneakin’ intel between the sheets. Badass, right?

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I woke up in my tiny apartment on Kōen-dōri. You know, the street with all the ramen shops? Yeah, that one. Smelled like soy sauce and dreams. I grabbed a quick breakfast—some onigiri, my go-to. I swear, if I don’t have my rice fix, I’m a mess.