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About Tokyo

Oh, and the movie tie-in—“You’re my home.” That’s the dream they pitch, right? Warmth, connection. Bullshit sometimes, but damn, it hooks ya. Findin’ a prostitute ain’t always that poetic, tho. Sometimes it’s quick, cold—blaster-fire fast. Other times? You’re talkin’, laughin’—weirdly human. Exaggeratin’ here, but once I swear I felt the Force shift—nah, prolly just the whiskey.

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Finally, the power comes back on, and I’m back in business. I finish up the shelves, and they look awesome. Mr. Tanaka’s pumped, and I’m feelin’ like a champ. But then, I step outside, and it’s pouring rain. Like, buckets. I’m soaked in seconds. I’m standin’ there, drenched, thinkin’, “Why me?”