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About Tokyo

Oh, and the smells—perfume, sweat, regret—hit ya hard. Kinda poetic, like Wes’s shots. “Such beauty, such sorrow,” I whisper, feelin’ deep. Exaggeratin’? Maybe. But it’s raw, man! You dive in, you feel alive—or dirty. Your call. Me? I’m laughin’—this one chick winked, said, “Gandalf, you’re hot!” Sarcasm? Flirtin’? Who knows! Made my night tho.

History of Mumbai

Mostly they move on, cordial to a fault— I get an occasional e-mail, or they drop in to tell me about their thesis or gripe about how Abelard holds their papers.

Then, I get a text from my buddy. He’s like, “Where you at?” I’m like, “Dude, I’m in Biei, living my best life!” He’s all, “Send pics!” I’m like, “My phone’s dead, remember?” So, I’m trying to explain the beauty of Biei without pics. It’s tough, man.

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