We met Tak back at the bookstore and borrowed his skateboard and bike to temporarily alleviate our increasing discomfort. By this point we had walked so much our knees, ankles, and feet felt like we had been running triathlons instead of vacationing in a fun city. Such was the pace of our wanderings. We wheeled around, snaking through the crowded streams of people, feeling much better.


Another wall painting was in order, and when Twist showed up and started painting with not only a total lack of artistic pretense, but good sense of humor, I was encouraged to join in and do a little art myself. Twist is fucking awesome, I couldn't say enough nice things about the guy, even beyond the amazing art he produces. I could, however, run out of nice things to say about my painting (we didn't get a shot of it, unfortunately, but basically it was a monkey creature in a suit with a gun to his head), but it was fun either way and when the cops showed up and we had to explain to them, in all manner of distorted and broken linguistics, that we had the permission of the museum to do the painting, that was fun too.

That night we ran into Andi on the street, an American girl with a few of the same connections and circle of friends. She'd been in Japan for a year and a half, so we hit her up for all kinds of info and made our way back to the bookstore. No one was around, so the vending machines blessed us with gigantic beers and we talked and waited for the party to start.


Twist and Takuji.


Posing with the cops.

I woke up as everyone was leaving at 6 in the morning, but it seemed that Paul had already left. I got kicked into the streets, filthy, delirious, pissed at something although I don't remember exactly what. I couldn't get the phones to work. I was yelling at mail boxes, shit like that. You understand. I ate some curry rice and made my way back to the museum, where Twist was still painting, somewhat delirious from lack of sleep. I watched for a while, then joined Takuji and a few other kids, where I slept on the concrete floor with my shoes for a pillow.


Twist had to finish up his work inside, so Andi acquiesced to our primal urges and agreed to slide us into a cool club close by. I say "close by" only because it was located a relatively short physical distance from where we began our trip, but that had absolutely no bearing on the ridiculous ground we covered trying to locate the fucking place. I would guess we walked 7 times the distance to Maniac Love, in a big figure eight, before we found it. Not only did our legs nearly give way, but our heads became sober and the kids left the club and we showed up with but a fraction of our initial booty-drive. Paul disappeared into a dark corner to chill, I drank a few beers and danced poorly and got dissed, then Andi left and I ended up crashing out in a corner myself.


Paul Hastings enjoying an art installation and hailing Satan with another Japanese cop.

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