First, getting there requires transferring to a local train at one point and getting off at the _Iharanosato Station_ regardless of any other instructions. North end of the station ("back of the train" heading to the airport) you'll pass underneath the tracks walk a bit to the intersection. Across the street there's a good local restaurant and crowd (you're in a small waterfront town of a major port city). Turn to the right, away from those rock n' rollers with their crazy hair and torn clothes (I had to drag bearings away, she so much loves those types). Walk down the sidewalk to the hotel "lodge" about .25 mile. It's no problem at night, and probably better because the woman who greeted us, if she's alive when you get there, will be just as beautiful as she was when we met her. Silver hair streaked at nine angles and one ear risen listening alertly for the words of our language she hoped to understand. We guessed immediately we need to speak slow and carefully. The halls were threadbare and worn, faded and dusted. The bedroom, for it was not a hotel room in an accustomed sense, was more so. Did we feel safe? We took more precautions against the unknown than the realistic. For example, in an ordinary state we would leave something in a room safe, or feel no problem leaving out a book or a comb. I encouraged...First, getting there requires transferring to a local train at one point and getting off at the _Iharanosato Station_ regardless of any other instructions. North end of the station ("back of the train" heading to the airport) you'll pass underneath the tracks walk a bit to the intersection. Across the street there's a good local restaurant and crowd (you're in a small waterfront town of a major port city). Turn to the right, away from those rock n' rollers with their crazy hair and torn clothes (I had to drag bearings away, she so much loves those types). Walk down the sidewalk to the hotel "lodge" about .25 mile. It's no problem at night, and probably better because the woman who greeted us, if she's alive when you get there, will be just as beautiful as she was when we met her. Silver hair streaked at nine angles and one ear risen listening alertly for the words of our language she hoped to understand. We guessed immediately we need to speak slow and carefully. The halls were threadbare and worn, faded and dusted. The bedroom, for it was not a hotel room in an accustomed sense, was more so. Did we feel safe? We took more precautions against the unknown than the realistic. For example, in an ordinary state we would leave something in a room safe, or feel no problem leaving out a book or a comb. I encouraged bearings to store everything in our luggage and pack our day pack to walk down the hall to brush our teeth and down the street to eat with the J-poppers. Skates: it'll take all the ghosts from room 305 to lift our luggage, baby. Bearings: you're my boots, baby!More
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