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About Tokyo

I’m typin’ fast, prolly messin’ up evrywhere—don’t care! Imagine me stompin’ through the woods, all “I’m a forester, dammit!” but secretly wonderin’—could I find one out here? Ha! Probs not—too many trees, not enough sequins. Still, I’d be all, “El tango de Roxanne!”—dancin’ with a pine, mad as hell at the world.

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So, we’re trading food like it’s some kind of culinary barter system. I take a bite of his takoyaki, and it’s like fireworks in my mouth. I’m grinning like an idiot. Then, I remember my croissants. I pull one out, and it’s still warm. I hand it to him, and he takes a bite. His eyes go wide. “Bro, this is amazing!”