Occidentalism: Hope in a Murky Soup of Inner Darkness

As always in this series, this is a letter from Rogue Leisure…

I was getting a bit frustrated…

They put me up “across the river” as the locals say.  I work in a rather hipster neighborhood, think Mississippi. The rents are way to high to subsidize.  Ain’t really shit to do in my neighborhood, but I decided to brush the vomit of my Nike’s (a Rogue’s version of picking himself up by the bootstraps) and find my new local to reward myself with a beer after not drinking all week and putting in around twenty-seven classes without quitting.

Probably not one of the bars, but a bar that wouldn't be appropriate for a local anyway

Probably not one of the bars, but a bar that wouldn’t be appropriate for a local anyway

It seemed like I was walking in circles.  I must have looked at two dozen places that didn’t resemble the bars I knew nor seemed suitable for a guy by himself just trying to wet his whistle.  They really don’t have a good concept of the word “pub” here.

I walked into this three story building hallway and I saw a couple tables outside on some milk crates and caught a glimpse of promise.  After looking inside, upon first glance, it seemed like just another restaurant.  But there was a cute girl peering out the window with quite a welcoming look on her face, so I decided to take the leap.

Dayia will be played by this girl found on my google image search.

Dai will be played by this girl found on my Google image search.

I would later find out two things.  One, her name was Dai [name changed], and two, and this should come as no surprise to anybody but me…I actually do like younger girls.  I only realized that tonight when Dai told me that she was twenty.  It’s important to know that I like them before I find out their age, not because of it.  That being said, maybe this is a common theme.

This ain’t no Portland dive bar.  I’ve come to terms that I’m not going to find my roots here.  But it had a nice wrap around bar where you could watch some friendly lads cooking up drinking food and plenty of beer and whiskey to feed the neighbors.  Did I mention the cute waitress?

Plus, I saw a guy a few stools down smoking and eating and I was fucking thrilled.  You can smoke in here?  In a restaurant?  As a non-smoker but general embracer of all things bar, I just about shit my pants with joy when I saw him put back on his Japanese name tag made out cardboard and go back to work.  I knew I was home.

The best part…



I saw a huge jar of some fruit looking things sitting in a liquid, and in my unlimited experience in bars, I knew an infusion was taking place.  I speak about three words of Japanese.  “You are pretty,” “kiss me,” and “plum wine.”  I was able to decipher with the non-existent English spoken here that these were indeed plums soaking in what I thought was sochu based on Dai’s adorable but inaccurate description. Later I found out I was delightfully wrong when brought whatever it was I ordered. I didn’t give a shit because I wanted whatever it was.

Now this is probably a good time to mention this place sees zero to no foreigners, so I was definitely getting special attention.

Turns out those WERE plums… and they were soaking in what I can only assume was salt water.  One was dropped in a frosty mug of sparkling draft sochu and brought to me barside complete with a smashing spoon.

Dai, my miniature muffin of a waitress, motioned to me that I was suppose to mash up the plum inside of the beverage. So like a gentleman I obliged.  What followed was definitely the highlight of my month, if not year.  I proceeded to crush the mystery fruit after it dodged the spoon for moment or two—as if it for saw its own fate. When my spoon condemned the fruit to its fate, there was final contact and what I can only describe as, “the squirt heard around the world.” A jism of small, intestine like substance erupted from its flesh as Dai looked on with intense focus. Without missing a fucking beat, she squealed in absolute delight.  I mean, I’m good with words, and I’m having trouble painting this picture for you.  It couldn’t have been more perfect. It was both innocent and intentionally erotic all at the same time.

This is, what we in the biz, would call a game changer.  Rogue has found his local… and some hope in a murky soup of inner darkness.

I will never forget that sound she made.

As always, I hope this letter finds you in good health and raised spirits.

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