- "Hello again!" say I. I'd met her the previous evening sitting with a friend of mine in the self same bistro where we now were.
- "Hi! Can you watch my stuff while I get something to eat? I'm starving!"
As she walks to the counter I notice she is wearing the same trend making urban style she had on yesterday. The "stuff" I am asked to watch is shopping bags: urban fashion store and DJ record shop. Hm. It's mid-friday afternoon; never mind I'm not where I should be - work, that is - but where is she not? What is it she is not doing to be here doing this?
- "Hah, I just ate the same thing."
- "Mmmm, it's good." Smile.
A bit of chit-chat. I told her the rain this afternoon reminded me of Miyajima and how it rained as hard when I visited the Torii in the Bay there. She's been there too.
- "What do you do?" I couldn't help asking.
- "I... ah... I sell drugs..."
- "Ah... wow! Which specifically?"
- "Pretty much anything they want. I only sell to *friends*; people I know and trust. No weirdoes or strung out junkies."
- "Makes sense. May I ask how much you make, approximately?"
- "Sure! I'm kinda proud of it actually. I just did the math for this month and I should clear $10k. That's profit."
Obviously, there is something very wrong here. But I'm glad at least that such a seemingly nice and well-balanced individual is able to reach for her dreams, by hook or by crook.
