82. The Old Rule For Drunks
Rumi and I continued our walk. We walked, taking all the roads and lanes, being part of the noise of the street, stopping wherever the bars had left their doors open. We were getting drunk on shochu and our own spirits.
Once, by mistake, we walked into a tavern’s kitchen, surprising the woman working there. But she was a good judge of drunks. She laughed.
I took Rumi’s sleeve and we left with apologies.
You might think that we got into a fight in the street over who picked the wrong door.
“That’s the old rule for drunks,” Rumi says.
the streets near Gakugei-daigaku station