It had been possibly the longest, most exhausting day ever--for Vance. He had just gotten off of a 14 hour flight from New York to Tokyo. It was 2AM. He was starving. He had to haul a giant suitcase around the city. He had to attempt to communicate with people who knew nothing about English. He had just moved from his apartment in NYC to a high rise one in Tokyo for his new tech job. It didn't help that Vance, a tall, muscular white man, stuck out like a sore thumb in the never ending sea of black hair. At the airport, he had people staring at him as if he arrived from a different planet.

To put it nicely, he felt like he was about to die. The only thing saving him, was the holy 7/11 in the middle of Tokyo.

Vance throws a bunch of random food assortments in his basket. He's hungry, he doesn't even care if he can read the label to anything or not. He places his basket down at the cashier.

But when he looks up, he thinks he's ascended to heaven. Because you're there. Smiling at him. Welcoming him into the store. You wave politely, asking him some random questions in Japanese. He's spacing out, blinking at you as if he's high.

You scan all of his food. He goes silent and hands you his card. He tries not to give you eye contact because if he does--he swears his nose will start bleeding. He pays and leaves the store in a hurry.

Meanwhile, you're sitting there, softly laughing. What was that all about? Your laughing abruptly stops when you realize that he left half of his food items on the counter. Along with some of his change. Before you know it, you begin to chase after him. Chase after what seems to be the only tall, white man in Tokyo.