“Japanese,” she said in an aggressive whisper as she leaned in, making it almost conspiratorial like an inside joke, only I had no fucking clue what she was on about.

She’d said it before, too, with her wide hyena-like grin. Those first few times, I laughed it off. What else was I going to do? Her crazy eyes exposed little to no depth other than malice. Was that malice directed at me? It wasn’t quite clear.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch an eager-looking gentleman trying to get my attention. Medium height, shaved head, bushy eyebrows, dark eyes, olive skin, but with a few extra pounds around his waistline. Polo shirt untucked, jeans looking neatly pressed. If I was honest, he looked like a Telly Savalas-Igal Naor hybrid.