JAMIE went for midnight cocktails. The restaurant, steel and glass, looks over a Tokyo dreamscape.
Mist and neon. The bar is ebony. The pillows, satin.
Jamie was jet-lagged, out of sorts. Emotionally.
He needed somewhere. He sat, he ordered toro. And a Kirin. He doesn’t go in for sake.
A advertising executive recognized him and ordered a bottle of Cristal.
The advertising exec was Japanese and maybe watched too much Mtv Cribs.
Jamie accepted the gift with a nod. He kept drinking Kirin. The executive was pleased by all inherent zen in the moment.
He did not disturb Jamie’s peace. He did not snap a picture with his new Sony Cyber-shot. He let Jamie’s gaze fall out the window.
The barman approved. Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken.
Jamie then received a phone call that benefited his mood. And he tweeted. Unfortunately about Jon Stewart.
The moon is reflected in a puddle an inch wide.
It is now Saturday morning with nothing to do. Beautiful for those who have jobs, I suppose. They can wake up and have a whole 12 hours.
For me, Saturday is but a continuation of Friday which is but a continuation of Wednesday. Glorious minutes and hours strung together however I see fit.
Today I will finish packing and either tomorrow or Monday I will fly to Bali. A swell is on the way and so is Jamie.
I think he has been on an emotional ride. Japan can do that to even the heartiest of men.
Teddy Roosevelt wrote love poetry when he visited the Rising Sun. Michael Jackson contemplated the beauty of adult women.
Japan changes people.
Jamie went to a karaoke bar. The bars crowd certain neighborhoods, becoming magnets for a country of chanteuses.
The Japanese love to sing.
Jamie only listens to rap and is usually unmoved by melody, but last night, a lonely minx took the stage.
She had come in from Harajuku and was done up in that style.
She wore a black baby-doll dress with a a black corset over top. She had blood red boots to her knees and blonde hair piled high.
Sharp bangs cut at an angle across her face, shielding all but a corner of one eye. Her blonde hair had streaks of blue and black.
On stage she looked like a goth teacup. Small and fragile. The toes of her boots pointed inward, demurely. Her arms hung at her sides.
She was not defiant. She was not on the stage to garner attention. She was simply lost, floating through the neon night. Simply arriving here.
A spotlight. A microphone. A frozen minute.
This karaoke bar was an imitation of an American 1940s night club. Jamie sat at a table in the back nursing a cold Red Bull.
A Japanese youth on a date sat at a table next to his. He wore a zoot suit. His date wore pigtails.
The music started.
The first bars floated from MS0801 Vibrational speakers. All the rage in tech savvy Japan.
A lush mix of synthesized piano and string orchestra.
The minx lifted the microphone to her mouth. She did not raise her head. One boot covered foot moved slightly.
She began to sing, in heavily accented English. “It’s been sewen houls an fiteeen day. Since you took you rove away.”
“I go out ewry nigh an sreep aa day. Since you took you rove away.”
A lone tear rolled down Jamie’s cheek.
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