In the course of a life well lived, you’re going to reach some points where the only way out is through.

Around this way you know that I’m a heavy advocate of long flightsand long lights.

So there is always going to be a case where you wake up to roll off a plane and have to hit the ground running because you’ve switch 6 time zones to land in the middle of a night out with the homies.

This was one of those nights. I had fallen asleep halfway through the flight over after downing a few whiskeys and was just now waking up to a spliff on a rooftop in Roppongi. Needless to say we were rolling hot.

It took me a bit to get my bearings, but nothing a few hits couldn’t fix. I’m just along for the ride on this trip, and delegating all plans to the ground team. The homies have been running here for a minute and have got the city dialed in. One perk of cultivating an international network is that you can drop in to any city and be in the mix without issue.

We head out and hit the night. It’s late but still early goings. Rain from earlier giving the streets neon reflections. Hopping the train, the mix is business and pleasure. You’ve got the suits headed home, and the night crew headed out. Two worlds passing each other briefly in the early night.

Hit the door and get pushed around the line. Up the stairs in Shibuya and we’re in the middle of it all. It’s packed in the spot. Someone hands me a shot and then another. I buy a round, we’re all kicking it and having a good time. Throwing back on old times when we were younger and more reckless.

A minx and her friend roll by and get pulled in to the conversation. They’re with a group over there, we’re with a group over here, eventually everyone is chopping it up and I’m vibing with a shorty. Her English is bad and my Japanese is nonexistent, but we’re making it work. She’s on the edge of bad, but trying to hide it. No fronting with me though and eventually I get that side out of her.

My crew is bout to bounce so I grab her digits and tell her we are headed back to Roppongi. If she ends up that way, she is always welcome to fall through.

It’s later but still early. We fuck around outside the club smoking grits, then hit a late night ramen spot. Our group is on one and the energy is contagious. We pick up some expats and everyone heads out to the next spot. Somehow cop a cab cross city and hop out to head down to the new club. We roll down to the basement and place is packed again. More shots come our way. Host posts us up at a table.

The expat girls wander off and a group of locals replaces them. Everyone wants to know where we are from and what we’re doing here. The question on everyone’s mind is how the gaijin are this connected.

I get the ear of another girl. This time the English is better. She’s seen my side of the world before, open to new experiences. This one is actual trouble and doesn’t hide it.

There are offers of some substance, and the home boy rounds up the crew and the night’s additions and we head back to the spot. We’re in our element at this point. It’s back to old times, everything running together on the glass table top of the apartment.

Shawty from Shibuya hits my line. She’s in the area and wants to know if we’re still out. Not out, but still up. She gets the invite back to the spot. Her and her friend roll through. Nothing going on seems to surprise them, so they get lined up and join in.

People start to drop off. The sun is coming up as the rest of the crew pairs off or dips out to pick up on some pre-work.

Roll another spliff and split it the last line. Then pick up business where it left off.