USA. A Mexican restaurant. We had not yet ordered anything, and the food was already arriving.
Chips. Salsa. Unrequested. Free.
I stopped the waiter. "We have not earned these."
"They just come with the table, man."
They come with the TABLE. In my land, hospitality is a debt. Every gift creates an obligation, weighed carefully, returned in the proper season with interest of feeling. Here, the gift arrives before you have even proven you can pay for dinner.
This is not an appetizer. This is a declaration: we trust you. Eat.
I ate with the gravity the moment deserved. And then — I must report this calmly — the basket emptied, and a new one appeared.
"Did we…?"
"Refill," the waiter said. "It's bottomless."
Bottomless. They have wells of salsa. The supply lines of this nation are beyond anything my ancestors imagined.
My friend warned me. "Don't fill up on chips, dude."
Too late. I had accepted three baskets. Honor demanded each one be finished — an unfinished gift is an insult. By the time my actual food arrived, I was a ruined man.
I was not hungry. I was not comfortable. I had been defeated by a courtesy.
Generosity that arrives before the request cannot be repaid. It can only be survived.
I know the rule now. I have made my peace with the basket. One basket. Two at the most.
Who am I deceiving. There is no number of baskets I would refuse. The trust of a nation is in that salsa, and I intend to honor all of it.
USA. Summer. It is 95 degrees outside, and I am shivering inside a sandwich shop.
I have discovered how Americans forge strong souls.
Outside, the sun is trying to kill everyone. Inside this small restaurant, it is winter. My breath does not fog, but it is thinking about it. A man near me is eating a cold sandwich while wearing a jacket. In summer. Indoors.
In Japan we would simply turn it down. Americans do not turn it down. And now I understand them better than they understand themselves.
This cold is not an accident. This cold is a gift.
The owner has built, inside his shop, a second season. He invites you in from the brutal heat and hands you the one thing the sun has denied you all day: a reason to be cold. To endure it is to be tempered. You walk in soft and sweating. You walk out sharp and clear, a slightly stronger person than you were.
So I did not complain. I removed my outer layer and offered it to the woman at the next table, who was hugging herself. She said, "Oh, no, I'm fine, thank you." She was not fine. Her lips were blue. But she, too, understood the training. She would not break first. I respected her deeply.
The owner asked if everything was okay.
"It is perfect," I said, through my teeth, which were chattering. "Thank you for the winter."
He said, "...I can turn the AC down if you want?"
I told him no. A man does not ask the mountain to be shorter.
I stayed two hours. I ordered a hot coffee to survive. Then a second one, to hold. By the end I could no longer feel my hands, but my spirit had never been clearer.
So now, on the hottest days, I seek out the coldest rooms. I sit. I shiver. I sharpen.
And when I finally step back out into the summer heat, and it wraps around me like a warm bath, I feel it.
Reborn.
A man who has survived the winter, in August, indoors, for the price of a sandwich.
🚨 HOLY SMOKES. Police just released the bodycam footage in the killing of 18-year-old white male Henry Nowak and it CONFIRMS the police LAUGHED HIM OFF when he said he got stabbed
Straight-up says: "I've been stabbed."
COP: "Whereabouts? Don't think you have, mate!"
NOWAK: "*Groaning* I CAN'T BREATHE."
COP: "Put your hand in the cuff."
Nowak says he can't breathe again.
Then again while they just stand there.
"We have to check [if he was stabbed], don't we?"
THESE COPS ARE COMPLICIT IN THE MURDER!!
THERE SHOULD BE WORLDWIDE OUTRAGE.
My moderate position is that I’m fine with paying taxes to feed other people’s kids, but only if the deadbeat parents aren’t allowed to vote until they can feed their own kids.
Today, we remember a legend.
On this day in history, Harambe would have celebrated another birthday. An icon that became part of internet history, American culture, and an entire generation’s timeline.
Tomorrow marks 10 years since we lost him. Ten years since the moment the world stopped scrolling and collectively mourned something bigger than a meme.
He became a symbol of loyalty, strength, chaos, unity, and the strange beauty of the internet bringing millions of people together for one cause: never forgetting Harambe.
Everyone remembers where they were when they heard the news. And somehow, a decade later, his legacy still lives on.
Gone, but never forgotten.
Rest easy to a true patriot. 🕊️🇺🇸
May 27, 1999 — May 28, 2016
Forever in our hearts.
I recreated this scene with these structures. It was only fitting. This was not easy to accomplish with Ai but got it done. These would look magnificent at that size.
I think we need to build this.
I designed this below image, representing Lewis and Clark on the Mississippi in the style of Argonath.
At $1 Billion or more, I think it can be done.
Crazy that Constantinople fell almost entirely because the Emperor didn't want to pay for a Hungarian's autism project (building a 19 ton cannon with a 30" bore inspired by much smaller models introduced by the Mongols) so the autist in question asked the Ottomans if they would like to fund his superweapon instead.
Being tired of repeatedly losing, they said yes and threw money at him to make the damn thing, which destroyed the previously unassailable walls of the city using 1200lb cannon balls with a range of up to a mile.
Dude wasn't concerned with politics, religion, or the civilizational consequences of his actions. He just really wanted to make an enormous cannon, and by god did he succeed.