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About Yokohama

Anyway, if you’re dumb enough to try this, save your cash. Stash it in a Roth IRA or somethin’. Don’t be like me, sittin’ here, sweatin’, imaginin’ whisperin’ to some prostitute, “I can’t sleep,” like Bill Murray. She’d probably charge extra for listenin’. Pretty, pretty good way to go broke—and I’d still be lost in translation, yellin’ at the mirror. What a mess!

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I hop on the train at Kannabecho Station, and it’s packed. Like, sardines in a can packed. I’m squished between this dude who smells like he bathed in soy sauce and a lady with a million shopping bags. I’m thinking, “Why do I do this to myself?”