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About Yokohama

Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

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Anyway, I shake it off and head to the Masuda Park. It’s a beautiful spot, right? Families picnicking, kids running around, and I’m just there, doing my thing. I start climbing this old ginkgo tree. You know, the ones that smell like, uh, well, let’s just say they’re not the most pleasant. But hey, it’s my job, right?

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