Me, cheerfully izakaya hunting in Namba, in the rain, followed by the very poor man's Gene Kelly.

Found in back alleyway in Amerika-mura. I have NOT licensed my name to this product. It is undoubtedly of inferior quality, and anyway, I only operate in South American sweatshops.
Flashy flashy
Tacky tacky
Fabulous all-you-can-eat Korean BBQ. The boys went all Neanderthal and insisted on doing all the cooking/serving. I wisely stayed silent and let the food pile onto my plate. What use is a hungry feminist?

And so, after an evening spent over-sharing your crimes and misdemeanours with your nearest and dearest, you miss the last train back to Kyoto and find yourself here, drunken, bloated and bereft, at sub-2am, at a pod capsule hostel.
These offer six intermittent hours of bleak Blade Runner rest in a surprisingly spacious coffin-like interior. Just close your eyes and pretend you're in Red Dwarf.
On the plus side, I no longer fear death. There will be porn and an attractive clock radio.
"Poor man's"? Easy now.
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