THE girl in imitation of THE DRAGON. Above the low, glossy black lacquer table, the throb whiteness of the airline ticket stood out bordering to a serving bottle of sake and an ochoko[1]. The rain sounded, pretending to drown out the voice of Lie To Me[2], and percussed in the meninges of both as if it were a concern of the nippy Roland TR-808 and TR-909 rhythm boxes, indispensable in electronic music. And there, there they were, position to face, without smoke, without others to fill a non-existent track or MDMA to cloud their reasoning or neon lights to illuminate them. -Is that all? -Monique finally blurted out, in chilly Japanese, later the water dancing a propos the torii of Itsukushima Shrine. Her question was not answered with words flowing from Stas lips, but next his conflict of distressing his feet upon the tatami to withdraw. For a few seconds, brief, intense and bitter, comparable to the taste of the dregs of her last cup of tea, she remained motionless, when th...