Staring at the ceiling. The ceiling is staring back. My apartment is so quiet I can hear my own hair growing. I am so bored I started organizing my ties by decade. I only have ties from one decade. This is a very fast game. I need to get out of this box. I need to do something that isn’t work or an arcade. I am rotting! A very handsome, well-dressed rot!
Train. Work. Biga Bosso. Train. Sleep. Repeat. Is this it? Is this the grand adventure? I am wearing my sharpest 1950s suit today and nobody even noticed. I am a stylish ghost haunting the Tokyo metro. I need a change. I need a shock to the system. Maybe I’ll get a tattoo. Or just eat spicy ramen until I hallucinate. Probably the second one. It’s cheaper.
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.