Los angeles is big enough that you can find anything you want provided you know the right people…drugs, sex, rock n roll, whatever. Actually you don’t even need to know the right people, you just need to know the right neighborhood and follow random people around.
And so I thought I’d make my way to the international house of hookers where it had been several months since I last saw “yoko”. Oddly enough, she’s korean so I’m not really sure why the marketing people there at the “massage parlor” would have her rock that name – maybe japanese people are more desireable? And she’s not even the only yoko there now, apparently there are two. Man, with the money they make, you’d think they could buy a name book or something.
My fuel tank was running on empty so I went to the arco by my house to fill up. As I stood there filling up with the cheapest gas possible, my phone went off, the caller id said zen – which is her real name and she really is japanese. She lives less than a mile from me (which is pretty “no fucking way” for los angeles) where I picked her up to go eat ramen in little tokyo. I got my fill of japanese that night. Maybe LA isn’t so big, just need a friend or two to make it smaller.