I was meticulous. I walked two hours in this small town to buy 1) weed, 2) a bottle of sake because there was no shochu 3) a pack of Belmont deluxe, 4) instant yakisoba. I missed Japan. As much I liked curry, I missed the tastes of my old life. I missed Japanese girls, Japanese women, cold beer in wooden izakayas, the language, the feeling. So on some nights when I lost discipline, I took Benadryl, cut off and ignored new conversation, and made my sweet and salty yakisoba wihle downing a beer, following it with cold sake, and eating a box of rural Canada yakisoba while I watched Japanese shows on Netflix. My Japanese is bad but I still want to do these things. Isn't that funny? Is it lame?
Almost, almost every bad decision you make, every sin that you cave into, comes to haunt you in the morning. The good choices too. They are quieter and more an absence of pain than the presence of pain. That is your reward for having foresight at 2:55 AM on a Thursday night.
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