Day 25
Like a bandaid. It doesn’t actually do any healing for you, it just covers up the wound.
After three years, I finally have the confidence to call myself a Shokunin. A craftsman, a professional. I remember applying for the job just days after arriving in Japan. Japan was a mystery, and I was a mystery to it. I strapped together a resume, polishing each line to hide their hollow reality. I had no place to live, nobody to call, and I definitely didn’t want to mention my stint in juvie. I even made sure to wear long sleeves to cover my tats.
My elaborate lies all fell apart on my first day on the job. They found me that morning sleeping in the restaurant, my penis standing at full attention, greeting them as they came to check on the intruder in their restaurant.
I was lucky to keep my job. Hiroshi even helped me get an apartment nearby, even fed me, introducing me to some of his favorite restaurants. It was clear that he was no ordinary man, and he had expensive taste, but good taste.
