Stumbling recklessly down a narrow, dimly lit alleyway in Tokyo’s bustling Ota Ward, not far from Haneda International Airport, Willie’s vision swam with blurs and indistinct shapes. Holding his stomach, bent over in agony, his steps were unsteady, weaving a crooked path as if guided by an invisible hand. The neon colors of the night lights were softened and distorted, swirling in chaotic patterns that danced before his eyes, making it a herculean task just to put one foot in front of the other. Pedestrians eyed him with a mix of curiosity and caution, sidestepping to avoid his erratic, zigzagging progress along the sidewalk. In his clouded mind, a single thought emerged with clarity: if he could just find some cold water to pour over his head, he might regain the senses he’d lost.
      With this hope, he spotted a 7-11 along his route and tumbled in, nearly falling in the process. The fluorescent lights of the store cast a harsh, sterile glow over his disheveled figure. Barely managing to maintain his balance, he hunched over like a man who had braved a tempest, each movement a betrayal of his intentions, as if the very earth conspired to trip him. He squinted through the haze, trying to fix his gaze on what he hoped was a water cooler. Yet, after only a few faltering steps inside the store, he felt the weight of curious eyes and judgmental stares upon him. He wavered like a spinning top on the verge of collapse, muttering incoherently under his breath before turning and stumbling back out into the night.
      Somewhere along the bustling street between the fluorescent glow of the 7-11 and the comfort of his hotel, he reached into his back pocket, pulled out his phone and somehow managed to call his friend and neighbor, Wasum.
      Though she was still cocooned in the warmth of morning sleep, the persistent ring of her phone pierced through her dreams. With a groggy sigh, she fumbled around the nightstand, finally grasping the device to see it was Willie calling. She answered.
      “Willie. Are you ok?”
      She could hear him attempting to speak, with city noises in the background, as he mumbled and fiddled with his phone. She couldn’t decipher what he was trying to communicate. However, knowing that Willie was never too far out of control, no matter how intoxicated, Wasum quickly became alert and concentrated on the call.
      “Willie. Willie! Are you there?”
      She checked the app—they had programmed each other into the Find My app on their phones. She could see he was in Tokyo, a short distance from Haneda airport. She knew he was due to come home from his trip the day before, but hadn’t heard from him. She figured he was in the RV sleeping off jet lag and getting reacclimated to mountain time again. She was surprised to see he was still in Japan, which heightened her concern.
      “Willie! Willie! Are you there?” The phone went silent.
      Wasum’s older brother, Decha, who was brought up by their aunt following their father’s death, worked as a cargo plane pilot under subcontract with SIAM Shipping and a few other charter companies based in Bangkok. His job involved delivering goods, and occasionally people, across Asia, and he frequently flew into Kansai, Narita, and Haneda. When she contacted him, it turned out by sheer luck that he was on a layover in Osaka, having just completed a delivery of fresh bananas and dried mangoes to a client at Kansai International Airport.
      “Wasum! What’s up, Sister?”
      “You remember my friend Willie, my neighbor I told you about?”
      “Yep.”
      “I think he’s in big trouble in Tokyo…” she explained, telling him about the uncharacteristic phone call. “Do you have any contacts at Haneda who could check on him, or is there any way you can help?”
      Decha replied, “Let me see what I can do. I might even be able to get over there. I was deadheading back but trying to find a load or a charter. I’ll make some more calls. I’ll call you back.”
      Wasum checked the app again and could see Willie, or at least his phone, was at the Oriental Express Hotel, about 15-20 minutes from the airport. She texted Decha with the location. Feeling helpless, all she could do was wait.
      An hour had passed and finally Decha called.
      “I found a load out of Haneda with another carrier, and I’ve got a friend—a local there who’s pretty well connected in Tokyo. I scored a standby seat on the next flight over. He’s going to meet me there.”
      “Oh my Buddha! Thank you, Decha.”
      “I’ll call as soon as I know anything.” He replied.
      Several hours went by, and it was almost 1 PM in Arizona, 5 AM in Tokyo. The app indicated that Willie was still close to or possibly inside the Oriental Express, which Wasum took as a positive sign. She knew that this was the hotel where he planned to spend the last few nights before his scheduled flight home. Just then, her phone rang.
      “Decha?”
      “We’re here at the hotel looking for him, under the radar…”
      “What do you mean, under the radar??”
      Decha replied, “Turns out my friend here knows the girl at the front desk of the hotel. She told him the police came in looking for Willie. Apparently he had stumbled into the street just down the road from here and caused a motorbike accident.”
      “Well the app shows him at that hotel, is he there?”
      “The lady at the front desk says she saw him about six but he hadn’t been back all night.”
      “Holy shit!” Wasum said.
      “Hang on, my friend just popped his head around the corner, he’s motioning for me to come over”, Decha said.
      A few minutes passed. Wasum could hear shuffling footsteps and muffled voices.
      “Decha, what’s going on?”
      “We found him. He’s out cold. Looks pretty beat up. He’s tucked away between a cargo truck and a cement wall. You’d never see him and wouldn’t think to look for him back here.”
      “Is he ok?”
      “My friend is going to talk to his friend at the front desk to see if we can sneak him in the back way and get him to his room.”
      “Oh my Buddha!” Wasum exhaled.
      Decha’s cohort came out the back way and propped the door open, saying “He’s not even checked in here but…