Our boss, as was customary for Japanese multinationals, invited us employees to spend the evening at a sort of sushi restaurant; he called it an 'izakaya', or something similar. Kneeling on the tatami with my legs folded beneath my thighs felt like a brutal punishment, but I had to admit that the ambiance was quite charming. The warm glow of the lanterns bathed the room in a soft, intimate, light, whilst the lingering aroma of meat embraced me, its draw difficult to resist. As I watched the raindrops splash on the windowpane, entranced by their pitter-patter, I found myself humming 'Aguas de Março' under my breath. The humidity that day made a mess of my hair, turning it all frizzy and curly. To add insult to injury, my tailleur was crumpled, and a droplet of toothpaste had stained the collar. Ah, careless me. I downed a rather large swig of beer, hoping that it would dull my mind and silence those self-conscious thoughts. Not that anybody else would have noticed anything amiss with my appearance, anyway. Ever since I was little, I had been almost invisible to others. Perhaps out of boredom, or because the alcohol made me a tad more sociable than usual, I crawled toward a colleague of mine. Leaning closer, I whispered,

"Hey, how about we sneak out of here and go to a Jazz club?"