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About Yokohama

First off, it’s shady as hell. You don’t just stroll up to some gal and go, “Hey, how’s biz?” Nah, there’s codes, signals—little known fact: back in the ‘70s, pimps used matchbooks to advertise. Dropped ‘em at bars, scribbled numbers inside. Clever, but sleazy. I hate clever sleaze. Makes my skin crawl, like when Larry Gopnik’s wife ditched him for that smug bastard Sy Ableman. “I’m a serious man,” Larry whines—yeah, me too, pal, ‘til I’m scoutin’ hookers.

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After lunch, I wandered over to the Gojonome Art Museum. I love art, but sometimes it’s just weird. There was this installation with, like, a million rubber ducks. I’m standin’ there, thinkin’, “What’s the point?” But then I overheard this couple arguing about it. The guy was like, “It’s a statement on consumerism!” And I’m like, “Bro, it’s just ducks!” I couldn’t help but chuckle.