We overslept, naturally, and had to haul ass to get the express train to Narita Airport. It's a long ride, and I just sat and looked out the window, much like Jon Bon did the airplane window in the "Wanted Dead or Alive" video, watching Tokyo slide on by. If you can't be a rockstar, you can always stare blankly out a train or bus window, hung over, hardened (however lightly) by the road, and do a pretty good damn job of pretending.

We rushed to the gate, knowing we had to get the box of guns checked in, because we didn't think they would appreciate their presence on the flight, particularly given my record of wandering around the plane, drunk as hell, while everyone is trying to sleep. But the flight was delayed an hour, so we relaxed and wandered around the duty free stores and killed time before getting on board. The ride home was uneventful, I watched two bad movies in succession and failed to sleep a single wink. But I got two dinners, so fuck it.

And then we were home. And I wrote this. And the story is over. It was a great trip, despite the pain and the occasional feeling of misdirection. It's a big world-- if you never get lost you probably haven't done a good enough job of wandering around. See you next tour.

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