I was knocking back drinks with a former bodyguard in the Yamaguchigumi, and it was raining outside.

He is about fifty years old, six feet five, and has arms that are bigger than my legs.

I was sitting on the tatami listening to the rain outside, and while he lit up his twentieth cigarette of the day I said,

“I love rainy days.”

He didn’t agree. Continue reading Rainy Day Yakuza #10,001 →