After the success of my lengthy investigations regarding off-track betting in the Himalayas Cayos head honcho Zini Pauls posted me out into Tokyo projects. He wanted me to act as a spy for what he believed was a cunning scheme by the Japanese to dominate all forms of filth using a combination of “Asian Bukkake” and “Teens, teens, teens.” I’ve been loitering around sex shops trying to pass for an amiable minor league pervert, I don’t grope girls and leer, too obvious, act like you don't give a crap and you fit right in. There is a lot of sex traffic in Tokyo Pojects and I don’t mean massages and backrubs, I’m talking about the hard stuff. It hasn’t been easy. I don’t shower much.

I thought I’d got to the source. About three weeks ago I was wandering through Shimbashi station when I heard a voice call out to me but when I turned around the crowd was swaying through the station as normal, except now they were silent, there wasn’t a single noise not even an electronic beep from a vending machine and the voice called out again, much clearer this time “oppai wa suki desu ka?” (Do you like tits?). Unperturbed by the silence I continued walking and blamed the Robatussin I had taken 2 hours before and someone had written “I’m so bored with the Japan” in what looked like marker pen across an advert for a magazine featuring Harumi Nemoto and then I heard the voice again but louder this time so I ran onto the Tokaido line platform, which was strangely completely empty despite it being rush hour and then I saw the same advert for the magazine with Harumi Nemoto but this time someone had written “TITS” in a childish scrawl across the top, a completely empty train arrived and I didn’t see the driver but I knew he was there and I knew he was waiting for me to get on.

I got on and the driver was playing Koda Kumi’s Cutie Honey through the speakers and I found a bottle of whisky in my bag which I never bought so I drank some and popped two more Robatussin and sat back waiting for them to hit and there was an announcement that the next stop was Shinjuku but I didn’t hear it and when I woke up the train was stopping at Shimbashi station and the whisky had gone but the magazine featuring Harumi Nemoto was in my bag and someone had written “Stay away from that TrapDoor” in marker pen but it was wet and smudged when I touched it and the train was still empty but when the doors opened at Shimbashi a crowd of commuters got on and I found myself squeezed between an unfeasibly large High School pupil and a woman carrying a yapping dog in a Louis Vuitton handbag and then the Robatussin took hold and I was stroking the dog and it was biting my hand but no one was looking and I started to read the magazine and I couldn’t focus and fell asleep again.