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About Yokohama

Man, Ruby’s a trip—she’s got stories, y’all. Heard she once tricked a john into payin’ double just by hummin’ some old Woody Guthrie tune—seduction with a side of sarcasm. “Hang me, oh hang me,” she’d croon, laughin’ as he fumbled his wallet. Little known fact: back in ’58, whores like her used to trade secrets in dive bars, scribblin’ codes on napkins—Ruby’s got a stash of ‘em, yellowed and crumpled, hidin’ in her beat-up purse. Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ how she’s outsmartin’ fools while they’re too drunk to notice.

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We take shelter under a tree on the side of the road. I’m trying to keep spirits up, cracking jokes. “Hey, at least we’re not in a sauna, right?” They laugh, but I can see the disappointment. I mean, who wants to hike in the rain? But then, it clears up. Just like that! Sun’s out, and it’s like the mountains are saying, “Surprise!”

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