My friend George has just returned from nearly 1.5 years in Japan. I’d like to write something about how he’s doing great and how he’s at the top of his game, but I just can’t. He definitely has a story to tell, but I am worried that he will be too lazy to actually take the time to write about it — having a Japanese gangster girlfriend, running nightclubs for Ethiopians, getting his jaw split in three places by a psycopathic Yakuza after getting caught in the middle of a loan dispute — and all before reaching the age of 23. While his jaw is wired shut recovering from maxillary surgery for the next six weeks, I hope he looks at this post about once a day and remembers to sit down and start writing about how a nice kid of above-average intelligence from a good home in Memphis can wake up to find himself halfway around the world caught in the underbelly of Japanese nightlife and culture. If he won’t write about it, someone probably should. I’m glad you’re home, G.
Now write the book.
