before the trip

Drinking, as usual, a latte, she begins typing click click click on the laptop. What is it about writing at home that throws the brain through a loop? Obviously, the most comfortable place to write would be in this exact spot, she thinks, sitting in her pajamas, her chair right next to the portable heater. Guess the coffee is always richer sitting in someone else easy chair (like the infamous Tully's). She is almost ready (well, let's be honest, she hasn't packed a thing!) for the magical Maui adventure that awaits her. one, two days left until swimming with the fish.

Net cafe de

At the net cafe in Shibuya, I ordered a vanilla latte. The clerk spilled a little bit out of the cup as he placed it in front of me. He immediately took the cup away in apology and was about to go get me another latte. No need, I said. The latte is hot. It's not as creamy as a Starbucks Latte, but it's certainly pretty, crowned with a fluffy little skirt of foam. I would probably have gone to Starbucks, except that I needed to check and see if the agency emailed me. No luck, Dr. Watson. So, what's the scoop for today? Went to one agency, check. The smallest room that could possibly hold an agency in a very nostalgic and quiet area called Nogizaka. Something or other slope. I went to copy my resume at the Lawson convenience store, where two youngish tofu hawkers had parked their cart outside. They said a hearty good morning to me as I quickly slipped inside. At the counter, I paid a bill while an old lady went back and forth about which oden (boiled vegetables and fishcakes) were the freshest of the day. At the agency, met a very nice young man, probably around the same age as myself, from South Carolina. No accent, though. A German girl bright with tattooed arms and piercings came in with her boyfriend to register. The boyfriend was asked if he wanted to register as well, and he looked incredulous, 'Well, I, um, I'm not a .....model,' he seemed to stutter out. He ended up filling out the paperwork. Now, almost done with my latte. Was nice, actually, not too cloying. A group of businessmen walks in clad in the same ol same ol'. They sit amongst the posters, and pink punk hair. Watch out there pops!

Not what I do

Not what I do that matters, not what I say. Not even what I'm writing right now, can speak the whole truth. I can only catch a glimpse of something, someone beyond me. Outside of rules, regulations, and "how to be a good person."

First Day

Finally free from the chains of a job she was not particularly happy in, she celebrates with a cup of black coffee. A strange way to celebrate, you might say, but trust me, she knows what she's doing. Back to basics, she says. She'd forgotten what regular coffee was like after months of sea foam lattes, caramel madness. The taste of coffee is really what I was after all along, she thinks. The others in the coffee shop seem to sense that something special has happened to this girl. Not that she's all smiles. No, her face is calm, but focused; she's scribbling madly away. All her thoughts which had been locked away for so long are now fighting for space on the page. Sure, it's going to take her a while to escape from the brainwashing 9 to 5, but it's all good now. Time to face the challenge of the self. Lord knows she's faced challenges from tough as nails personalities in the past year. It's time to face up to the work she's meant to do.