pushing through the concrete, the neon, the bent metal at 300 kph.

there is a friend of a friend there, an investment banker, in tokyo. he is between jobs with a dead visa, angling for work selling confidance and numbers somewhere in the east. hong kong, tokyo, or shanghai - somewhere where the women are not too expensive and you can still find familiar beers.

"I have to run to Hong Kong - you can have my place for a week if you want - its better than any hotel you will find."

and he is right. in the shadow of tokyo tower - a giant, garish, imitation of the paris skyline's tiara - i find his room the Somerset Serviced Apartments. $4800.00 USD a month for a centrally heated efficiancy. maids fold my toilet paper in the morning, BBC pours in and for the love of god, there is a mattress to sleep on.

"Anything you want - help yourself." he says to me as we sip a strong regional specialty sake i brought along from the south. He slides a bag of dates towards me with a hairy paw -
"These are from Dubai.. happy uh.. happy Ramadan.." he laughs
"cheers then." i say.
we immediately continue our conversation about the hot water/cold water fellatio techniques Macau is known for.

ah, to be a turk in the east.
for one night, at least.