Disappearing Breasts and the Whispers of Cattle
· 4 min read
I heard this story in a jazz bar.
That night, Tokyo was experiencing a dense rain, like some invisible, viscous substance threatening to devour the entire city. I sat alone in a corner of the bar, nursing an excessively expensive whiskey. The ice cubes swirled slowly in the amber liquid, like time itself, melting away silently.