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About Yokohama

So, I’m creepin’, heart’s poundin’, and I spot her—red lips, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. “Come what may,” I mutter, like I’m Christian swoonin’ over Satine. I stroll up, all cool, like, “Yo, lady, need a shelf built?” She laughs—LAUGHS!—and I’m like, “Score!” Happy as hell, dude, ‘cause she didn’t ditch me. Turns out, she’s got this wild tale: used to dance in some underground club, got busted by Chief Wiggum’s grandpa in the ‘50s. Freaky, right?

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Nope. With several identities, extensive travels, etc, she was NOT a "civilian". It just was not normal back then.

After that, I decide to stroll down Kameyama Street. It’s lined with cute little shops and cafes. I pop into this tiny joint called “Naze Nibbles.” The owner, this sweet old lady, serves me the best matcha latte ever. I’m sipping it, feeling all zen, when I hear this loud crash outside. I rush out, and there’s a guy on a bike, totally wiped out. He’s okay, but his bike? Not so much. I can’t help but laugh. I mean, come on, dude, watch where you’re going!

Stillwater man charged in stepfather's death found not competent to stand trial, court officials say