Yes, America, I ate raw chicken.

My face was blazing red from the izukaiya's flourescence, the bowling alley curse, and the new winter's 3 AM chill. We pedaled in pairs alongside an unsightly man-made stream, unconcerned at that hour about women rounding corners with babies and eggs in their bicycle baskets. Yuuki--whose parents didn't tell him until high school that they were actually Korean--told me, "I love cultural exchange" and I gladly accepted my position as wise informant on the differences between Japan and America. Crime, uh, situations for women, um, fashion? I could no longer hear the other pairs speaking amongst themselves, but I listened to Yuuki advise, "Do not be shy to use Japanese. It is nice to try. When I go to Australia over the summer, I think my Japanese--I mean English--was so bad but I had to try." Yuuki is a young man who hates the thought of it but will likely end up in a semi-traditional Japanese male career path. His major is English and he also attends an English Speaking school, so his language skills will be highly marketable in the business world. I watched him with his girlfriend last night; she flirted much more with the redhead guy but Yuuki didn't seem to mind, or notice. I wonder what will happen to them, or her more specifically. As he and I huffed up the final hill of the home stretch, vertical on our bikes, now completely alone, I told him, "I (pant) would never (pant) feel safe riding (pant) my bike at 3 AM (pant) at home (gulp)." He just laughed, knowing I was talking about a feeling he'd never really have. "I think it's cool that you got through the application process to study abroad. You have to work very hard, and it's cool that you got to Japan. I just, I just really respect you guys. I have so much respect for you." I almost handed the man a tissue, but just smiled and said with the last leg pump to the hill's crest, "Finally, it's down-hill" and we both knew at that moment that nothing could feel better than riding full speed down that hill towards our beds.