So I'm cruising down Meiji Dori, the main road to work. As is typical, the idiot in the big black Lexus in front of me decides, for no apparent reason, to put on his hazards and stop, right there in the middle of the road. I mutter a profanity and flip him off as I swerve around him, then pull up to the light waiting to turn left. The driver was not happy to be flipped off, and sticks his head out the window shouting and growling like only a pissed off Japanese guy can. Then he pulls up along side me, really blocking traffic, and lays into me again. The back door opens and out steps another guy; buzzed hair, wide double-breasted suit, stream of profanity.
Backseat Man comes up in my face and is going off. I respond in English, which REALLY pisses him off and he brings it up a notch. Then another Lexus pulls up behind me, completely cutting off both lanes. Another buzzcut double-breasted suit gets out from that back seat, as the first guy is trying to rip the helmet off my head.
The gears in my morning-groggy brain finally click: Lexus. Tinted windows. Shinagawa plates. Double-breasted suits. Buzzcuts. Streams of profanity...Yakuza. Four of them. And one of me. Not wanting this chapter in the book of my life to be the last chapter, titled "Bad Judgement Leads to End of Good Life", I gun the accelerator and rip around the corner. They follow, but I check my mirrors, swerve around traffic, run a red light, and leave them far behind.
First note to self: rich old figure-head company presidents get driven around in Mercedes. But yakuza, by some twisted right-wing nationalist logic, only drive domestic cars.
Second note to self: One yakuza punk is all mouth. Four yakuza punks is sure death. And yakuza never travel alone.
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