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