I'm in Japan
I’m slowly waking up, completely slouched on a yucky sofa. Again, I have no idea where I am, and what just happened. “It’s becoming a habit,” I tell myself. And not a good one. Another night of deviant behaviors. Not the first, and probably not the last.
Beads of blood are staining my shirt, all over the bottom area. Some are around my crotch too, but it feels like everything is in its right place so I don’t worry too much. Or maybe I just can’t, I don’t know.
When I decide to raise my head up there’s an old dude with white hair two meters away from my face and he’s wearing just a thong and getting excited around a dance pole. The coot is glowering at me with his tongue dangling out of his mouth while he’s nibbling on his own nipple.
Fuck. But really. WTF is going on.
The whole scene gives me the willies and I can’t believe all that shit is real and all I want to do is run away from that place but as soon as I stand up my left leg gives out and I plunge to the floor and my face plummets right into someone else’s vomit. I gasp and uncontrollably-and unfortunately-take a deep whiff and right away decide to turn off my nose sensitivity but it’s too late and I blatantly reverse all my food intake of the past 3 days-or so it seems-at the feet of the geezer who is still chewing on his left mammary gland. The old cuckoo jerks his chin at me and spit on the top of my head.
The situation seems so absurd that I don’t even feel like bawling him out, and I’m just hoping this is all a nightmare and I close my eyes and pray.
And it’s only when I open them back that I notice that the old man’s body is as trim as a marathon runner.