My name is Kondo. You know my father.

Saturday marked the end of the desperate urges of unfulfilled desire to create and with the new house goddess Mishin we threw ourselves in the whirl of uncontrollable madness of potention. I sewed for two days straight and by the end of the weekend my fingers were blue with indigo, nerves wrecked, body exhausted and my heart warm with satisfaction of achievement. And the room together with me smelled a bit bad.
On saturday early in the afternoon Miki先生 stopped by to pick me up to go and book a car for mum`s and mine trip to Chiiori three weeks from now. Miki`s dad owns a car company so he dealt a deal for us. In my imagination Miki was going to head proud and unthreatened straight for the office and bark at the slouching sales assistants, nervously now and then peeking from behind their ashtray glasses, `My name is Kondo. You know my father`. And in that instance all would be clear and done. To this idea Miki just laughed in her slightly modest and amused voice, she got out of the car, headed for the office, smiled...and all was clear and done.
(Of course the yakuza action involved few moments of ununderstandable rants, unconfortable silences and questioning looks-mostly on my side-but eventually indeed, we left with a booking of the dealt deal, an unused proof of identification and unused few money that i brought as proof of my possessions and a granduer feeling of importance).

And I should not forget to mention a little anekdote about how I forgot, in that whirl of maddening passion for creation, to bring in the futons and sheets that I hang in the balcony, before it started pissing it down with rain. Miki rang the door bell and with that already mentioned slightly modest and amused voice, this time also with a grin on her face, she reported to me the happenings of the outside world of which, in my own little lost existence, I had absolutely no idea.