Back to the freezer. My breath is fogging up my laptop screen. I am typing with gloves on. Typing with gloves is an extreme sport. Yuo llok lijke a tiot! See? That was me trying to type “You look like an idiot!” I am an idiot! A freezing, lonely idiot in a foreign country! W00t! Feel the chill! Send me thermal underwear! Send me a bonfire!
I haven’t slept in two days. The walls of my tiny apartment are closing in. I started talking to my vintage oxfords. They gave me some solid life advice. “Shine us, Josh. Polish the pain away.” THEY ARE RIGHT. I am polishing the pain away! I am a machine! I drank four coffees and my heart is vibrating in D-minor. If I explode, make sure they bury me in my gabardine!
JAPAN IN AUGUST IS A MISTAKE. I am a puddle. I am soup. Josh-soup. I went to the store just to stand in the freezer aisle and a little old lady hit my ankles with her basket. I deserved it! Hit me harder, obaa-san! I am too weak to fight back! I have been wearing a wet towel on my head for three days. Biga Bosso wants me in early tomorrow. I will show up in a bathing suit.
WHY IS IT STILL HOT. IT IS OCTOBER. My apartment is a sauna. I am a roasted peanut. I am a salty, sweating, 1950s gentleman who is melting into a tatami mat. Biga Bosso made me work until 11 PM. I am running on fumes and Pocari Sweat. If I die here, please tell my vintage suit collection that I loved them. *sobs into a towel* I need a vacation. I need an air conditioner. I need a miracle.