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About Yokohama

Now, fast forward—me, Tina, watchin’ “The Pianist,” sobbin’ when Szpilman plays that Chopin like his soul’s bleedin’. “What is it? What’s the matter?” his sister asks, and I’m yellin’ at the screen, “Life’s a whore, that’s what!” ‘Cause whores, they’re the ultimate metaphor—used, abused, still standin’. I’m typin’ this so fast, prolly fucked up “metaphor” back there—meh, who cares? You get it. They’re scrappy, like Szpilman hidin’ in rubble. Love that grit, makes me happy—tough bitches win.

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All the rooms and the walls were filthy. I will get tested if I keep feeling bad, though I think it might have been natural bacteria.

First off, I woke up late. Like, super late. My alarm? Totally ignored it. I was supposed to meet a client at the Atami Station. You know, the one that’s all busy and stuff? Yeah, I rolled in like a total mess. I’m sprinting down the street, dodging tourists and their selfie sticks. Seriously, who needs that many pics of the Atami Sun Beach?

Officials aware of Atami landslide risk a year before they had said