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."