In Tokyo. Happy to report that the legends are true. Five-story towers packed full of milkmaid outfits and porn with the crotches blurred out on the Toshiba flatscreens and blowup dolls of ever conceivable configuration. You can get a blowup of a white woman with rhino-rolls of fat, if that’s your thing. You can get a mechanical dildo machine that piston pumps your asshole, if that’s your thing.
It’s better than Korea. I don’t want to go back. Because Koreans are pretty cunty. They’re so racist they barely like themselves, let alone white devils. But in Japan, a place where you would think the people would have every reason to despise the foreigners who immolated all of their cities seventy years ago, they adore you. If you look lost they’ll come up and ask where you’re trying to go. You wonder how a culture that’s so polite ever produced the barbarians who raped a whole hemisphere.
I’m in Korean mode so I keep speaking that to the locals. Which confuses the hell out of them. That’s like a Mexican walking up to me in the US and speaking Greek. There are very few robots here. Tokyo feels like the future, but a used, dirty, Total Recall future.
There are some geishas and schoolgirls. There are no trash cans on the street because homegrown terrorists used to put bombs in them. We’re staying in a hotel the size of a closet but at least it’s not the common room of a hostel. I hate pretending to be affable. I also hate not having the gym and my smartphone for mindless scrolling and my writing time and the fact that my blog is deflating as I neglect it, but you gotta spend money and live your life sometime. More pics up on Twitter, if you give a shit and have never been to Tokyo.