Tokyo 2004: A fling with a man named Jeremiah, who you might guess, is not Japanese, but American like me; the off-white teeth we identify non-actors by. We met on a banana boat, after his hands locked around my belly. I didn’t have time to turn, but I would have recognized his lust, lying crooked on my shoulder. We kissed and circumvented the bay until the world was too tired to move the water. The docking fine we had to pay for the missing boat was nothing, almost a prize it seems now, a memory I ignorantly return to in loneliness.
Photo credit: Ginger Massey
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