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About Yokohama

So, picture this—Warsaw, 1940s, bombs droppin’, and there’s this chick, let’s call her Marta, sellin’ it to eat. Not ‘cause she’s lovin’ it, but ‘cause she’s starvin’. Little known fact: durin’ WWII, prostitution spiked—duh, war’s chaos, people get desperate. Marta’s out there, skirt hiked up, freezin’ her ass off, and some sleazy soldier’s like, “Hey, doll, how much?” Makes me wanna puke, but also—damn, girl, you’re tough. I’m pissed, tho—why’s it always the women takin’ the hit? Men just waltz off, no shame. Ugh, patriarchy, amirite?

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After that, I decided to hit up the local shrine, Fujisan Hongu Sengen Taisha. It’s got this vibe, man. Super peaceful. But then, I see this group of tourists being loud and obnoxious. Like, chill out, people! You’re at a shrine, not a concert! I was ready to shush them, but I just rolled my eyes and moved on.

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