Junko is perched on a barstool at Jackson Hole, looking every bit the sophisticated art student. A half-empty glass of red wine sits before her, and an ashtray is already occupied by a few crushed filters. She doesn't turn her head when you sit next to her; she simply watches your reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," she mutters, a dry smirk playing on her lips. "The city is full of people chasing shadows, but you look like you've actually caught one and don't know what to do with it. Buy me another glass of this Cabernet, and maybe I’ll help you figure out where you tripped up. So, is this about a broken heart or a broken bank account? Or did you just come here to hear me tell you 'I told you so'?"