A Will Abroad

I was sitting on a bench. It was cold. The weather, not the bench. Though because the bench was made of a thick, stone slab, it too was cold, not that it is worth noting.

This was a strange place. Lights, people, strange writing that I had never seen before in any meaningful context.

But there I was, sitting on a cold bench on a cold day, though I might as well have been on the moon. Nothing made sense here to me. It was all so... I guess foreign is the correct word? But that seems so cliche. I was trying to think of something better, but the moment has passed now, so we'll just stick with "foreign," even though it's mundane and lacks a certain "joie de vivre," which I'll have you know I thought of right away.

My stomach was full of soba noodles and sake, both cheap, but then I found myself here by a stroke of chance or luck or kismet. I literally stood up from my desk at work yesterday, walked out and headed to the airport like I was possessed.

Here is where I ended up.

"Hello, Tokyo. I'm Will."