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Once from Japan - by nate


my t-shirt's been on inside out but for how long i don't know. fucking tanked as all shit when i nabbed me my cab back to my coffin, spent what in china would a been a week's worth a cab fares to get from roppongi to shinjuku, checked out ten minutes late which cost what in china would a been dinner for two, on my left arm some girl's name written romaji de in the ink a the green pen stuck in the collar a my on-backwards t-shirt, don't really remember too much about her cept that with she the refrain remained, refrain a course being that, well, having grown up around girls i am whole heartedly of the belief that any given girl would rather dance than not, forgetting, since those girls i grew up around were kin everyone, that most guys would rather not than dance, and offer to do so solely as a trade for sex, so that when some dipshit gaijin such as myself wants to, actually, sincerely, dance, none of the japanese girls will buy into the belief thereof.

whitney houston may prove to be, under the arnoldian personal fallacy, especially poignant upon my return to china and the horrible, whitney-houston-espousing ktv therein.

should probly turn my shirt around.