Space. The final frontier. Life in London is pressured by money and time. In Tokyo, it seems to be space. It suddenly makes sense. People drum on drum simulators, thump on bongo simulators, strum on guitar simulators, and spin on turntable simulators in arcades. They rent “rest” in a love hotel in the Roses and Elvis room for 4 hours (as opposed to staying for a night – called a “stay”) because they live three generations to a property and having sex and drum kits in front of your grandparents is probably too much like hard work.

Achievements so far today

  • Stolen a robe so I can look flash on the beach in Borneo. Not an easy task, as the imperialist cleaning parties go room cleansing in packs, and they seem to keep an eye on the easily stealables on their cleaning trolley.

  • Found a locker big enough for my gargantuan baggage. This leaves me free to seek out a capsule hotel for the night. (No Elvis Room)

  • Remembered not to have curry for breakfast now that I have checked out of my nice room with accomodating toilet. I miss it already.

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