You were the designated bar pimp, with a job description that entailed hollering at passers-by to enter your employer's shady haunt. You were Australian, as was most of the bar clientele, bored expats making eyes at other bored expats to the songs of Men at Work and INXS.
As I walked by, you began your pitch. The drinks were great, you said. Plus, there were plenty of girls. And karaoke, that princess of Japanese recreation. Would I care to have a look, sir?
Only if you give me the answer I want, I replied. Are you a Mark Waugh or a Steve Waugh man?
I look forward to meeting you again.
- ► 2006 (30)