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About Yokohama

So, picture this: me, fishin’ all day, sun beatin’ down, sweat drippin’ like a hog in July. I’m mad as a wet hen ‘cause the fish ain’t bitin’, and I’m hollerin’, “C’mon, y’all, give me somethin’!” Then—bam!—this gal sashays by, skirt shorter than a minnow’s tail. I’m like, “Well, slap my britches, is she one o’ them workin’ girls?” Ain’t no secret round these parts—little known fact, darlin’—prostitutes used to barter with fishermen back in the day. Fish for a quick fling! Ain’t that a hoot? History’s wilder than my hair on a humid day!

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Then, outta nowhere, it starts rainin’. Like, heavy rain. We’re all runnin’ for cover, and I’m thinkin’, “This day just keeps gettin’ better!” We duck into a little café, and it’s cozy. I order a matcha latte, and Yuki gets some weird dessert that looks like a green blob. I’m like, “What even is that?”

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