There is a knock at the door.
It’s been years since I’ve been to Tokyo. Like New York, it’s a city that never sleeps. Which is fortunate, as I am jet-lagged. And annoyed at the two hours I spent cooling my heels on the parked airplane waiting for the sun to go down.
The concierge knows what I am saying before I say it. I don’t have to wait long.
I open the door, and she is standing there, holding her blood test results in her hands. Her name is Junko, and she is B negative.
I love this city.
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