“ Everyone in Tokyo is drunk after seven and Naomi Yoshinaga was no exception. She crashed on the hotel bed a little earlier than the night before.As if the city itself didn’t choke her enough, waiting for Monday to arrive with the lights off was not something she thought she was brave enough for. She tried to sleep with the lights on.The mattress against her back seemed to be performing some sick kind of acupuncture. The weight of her body massaged only the pain that all the alcohol in her blood tried hard to fight with. Sleep came slowly, like her mother’s lullabies, sleep came so out of tune.Of course, she couldn’t tell when the nightmare began. Or that if it was indeed a nightmare, or even just a dream. She found herself in a room that vaguely resembled like what a huge Rubik’s cube would look like on the inside. Walls shifting, floors turning, bright colored squares illuminating her face like soft disco lights. American pop music was being played somewhere in the distance. She could faintly recognize the song as one of the hits by the backstreet boys.Then she noticed, she was standing on a newspaper. Monday’s newspaper. Tomorrow’s copy of The Japan Times. The headlines read: “Thank you Yoshinagatron!” and there was a picture of some school kids standing with a huge robot.She thought it was funny how everyone used to say that the curves of her body were geometrically angular. But everyone was right, and this meant Naomi was discovering a wisdom that can only be acquired with age.”