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About Yokohama

So, I tried it, right? Sex-dating apps—fuckin’ jungle out there. Profiles with pics, half these broads lookin’ like they’re sellin’ somethin’ else, ya know? Got me thinkin’, “Is this a date or a fuckin’ transaction?” Made me mad as hell—where’s the class? Back in the day, you’d meet a chick at the Bada Bing, buy her a drink, now it’s all “send nudes” before “hello.” Drives me up the fuckin’ wall! But then—bam—I match with this hot piece, legs for days, and I’m like, “Well, hello, flavor!” Like Linguini tastin’ Remy’s soup—surprised me good.

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After that, I finally get to work. I’m hammering away, and it’s kinda therapeutic, ya know? But then, BAM! My phone buzzes. It’s my buddy Kenji. He’s like, “Yo, let’s hit up the izakaya later!” I’m like, “Sure, but I gotta finish these shoes first.”

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