#fishysmell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

faisalchhipa · 2 years ago

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vaginal smell during pregnancy

Ifyour urine is cloudyandsmellsfishy, it is most likely a urinarytractinfection. A urinarytractinfection is whenmicro-organisms enter theurinarytract, wheretheymultiplyandcauseinflammation. Bacteria are the most commoncausativeorganisms, whilefungi, virusesandparasites are lesscommon. Urinarytractinfections are the most commoninfections in peopleofallgenerations, alongwithrespiratoryinfections.

Theycan be broadlydividedintolowerurinarytractinfections (urethritis, cystitis, prostatitis) andupperurinarytractinfections (acutepyelonephritis, renaloradrenalabscess), depending on thelocalisationoftheinflammation. Urethralandbladderinfections are non-invasive, whilekidneyand prostate infections are invasivetissueinfections. Infectionsmayalso be asymptomatic.

Thedefinitionofurinarytractinfection as uncomplicatedorcomplicated is veryimportant, as it determinesthepre- and post-treatmentinvestigations, thechoiceofchemotherapeutic agent, thedurationoftreatmentandtheneedforurinarytractmorphologicalexaminations.

At theonsetofsymptomsandsignsofinfection, wecannotyetpredict how theinfectionwillprogress. Therefore, a historyofpreviousdiseases is veryimportant.

Uncomplicatedinfections are most oftencontractedbyotherwisehealthywomenofchildbearing age who are not pregnant.

Complicatedurinarytractinfections are most oftenthoughtofwhentreatment is not effective. Complicatedurinarytractinfectionoccurs in groupsofpeople at higherriskofurinarytractinfectionsdue to thepresenceofaninflammatoryfocusorotherfactors, which are characterisedbyaninfectionthat is more difficult to treatandcanlead to severe complicationssuch as kidneyloss, acuterenalfailure, sepsisandevendeath.

Acuteinflammationofthebladder (acutecystitis) is manifestedby a suddenfrequentandburningdischargeofsmallamountsof urine (dysuria), which is cloudyandfoul-smelling, bloodmayalso be present; pain in the area ofthebladderabovethesymphysismayoccur. To confirmacutebacterialurinarytractinfection, thediagnosticfinding is pyuriaandbacteriuria. Themidstreamofthe urine sample is examinedduringcontinuousmicturition. A youngerwomanwho is not pregnant is treatedempiricallywith oral nitrofurantoinfor 5 days; trimethoprim-sulfamethoxazole is prescribedfor 3 days. Acuteuncomplicatedurinarytractinfections do not usuallycausechronicrenalimpairmentorarterialhypertension. Asymptomaticbacteriuriadoes not causesequelae, except in pregnantwomen, in whom it is activelysought. Recurrentacuteuncomplicatedcystitis is defined as a womanwhohashadacutecystitis at leastthreetimesduringherchildbearing period in the last year. Recurrentlowerurinarytractinfections (reinfections) are verycommon in youngwomen. A complicatedurinarytractinfection in a renalordiabeticpatient, anunresolvedobstructionor a neurogenicbladdercanacceleratethedevelopmentofchronicrenalfailure in a patientwithchronickidneydisease.

BioapigynVaginalOintment is aneffectivemethod to preventvaginalinflammationandother vulvo-vaginaldisorders. It is also used to treaturinaryincontinenceorleakageof urine. Theointmentcontainsnaturalactiveingredientsof bee andplantorigin. Bioapigyn® VaginalOintmentcreatesanacidicandviscousenvironmentwith a lowwatercontentthatpreventsthegrowth, adhesionandreproductionofpathogenicmicro-organisms, whileloweringthe pH ofthe vagina to optimallevels. A protectivelayer is created on thedamagedvaginalmucosa, moisturisingthe vagina andallowing it to recover more quicklyandpreventingfurtherirritation. Thecombinationofessentialoilsandherbalmaceratealsoeliminatesunpleasantodours, oftenmanifestedby a 'fishysmell'.

For more information on BioapigynVaginalOintment, pleasevisit: https://dottoria.com/products/bioapigyn%C2%AE-vaginal-ointment-for-urinary-incontinence

#vaginalsmellduringpregnancy

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dvbermingham · 5 years ago

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Chapter 14: Tako

He shrieked when he saw me. I get it. I’ve been shrieked at before. A unexpected pulpy man lying on the couch, totally understandable. The shriek was loud and dramatic and he feigned like he was going to run, almost like he was acting, like he was on camera.

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I guess Vicky didn’t call you.”

“No Vicky didn’t call me. Vicky never calls me.”

“I’m Lou.”

“Oh well Hi Lou. A friend of Vicky’s, I presume? Not just some derelict she found on the street? It wouldn’t be the first time, you know.”

“We just met, so I don’t know why. She said she liked how I danced.”

He scanned me up and down. “This happened to you dancing?”

“No, afterwards. Backroom scuffle. I’m a bodyguard. It’s not usually so hazardous. Mostly you just stand around looking big, bluffing. Sometimes people call that bluff.”

“You might want to go to the hospital.”

“That’s what I hear.”

Hadrian shrugged and went about his business, treating me like a piece of furniture or a sleeping dog, something that should be left alone unless it bothers you first. That was fine by me. My body ached, my mind ached, but the pain had worn off just enough from the pills that there was now room for that sweet, sweet shame. Sham for having lost my Matzu, shame for having failed, shame for losing the tuna and the limo, but mostly the tuna, the dread of having to call Stella and file a missing body report. Stella would have to reach out to Alfonso and maybe if I was lucky Matzu was alive and would take me back. Otherwise it was back to the temp agency, waiting for someone to ignore my references and just hire me out of desperation. I supposed there was a case to be made that we had been ambushed and overpowered by a gang so large that no bodyguard in the world could have prevailed. I mean, no one knew how many drinks I’d had, or the depths of the dance trance that consumed me just moments previous to being held up at gunpoint.

Then I got to reflecting. Always something I try to avoid in the moment. It’s what got me into so much trouble in my former careers. But lying out with nothing but a puke bucket by my side doesn’t leave a lot else to do. For me reflecting came in the form of wondering whether Takuto’s death and Matzu’s disappearance were connected. And whether there was a fight for New York sushi territory happening behind the scenes. Whether this was the beginning or the end or somewhere in the middle. And whether somebody caught in the middle could be held responsible, could be given another chance.

Maybe I could call it quits right then and there, I thought. No, I certainly couldn’t. Even though I had only known Matzu for one night, his disappearance would always be an unanswered question, a terrifying void in my life. I could never move on unless I figured out what had happened to him.

Hadrian popped his head in from the other room. “I’m ordering lunch, you want anything?”

“Just get me whatever you’re having.”

“You’re buying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Cheaper than a hospital bed, pal.”

Twenty minutes later we were eating shawarma from the Lebanese place across the street. Fantastic stuff, greasy and spicy, just what my bludgeoned and hungover body needed. At my age, you don’t really think you’ll ever experience a new style of meat-sweats in your lifetime, so when they come, you savor them. Hadrian had an accent I couldn’t place but didn’t want to ask about. Possibly Rhode Island. He wore very tight clothes that looked coordinated, like he studied fashion magazines or had a thing for mannequin displays. He was a confessor, I could tell right away. Like he hadn’t talked to anyone in a few days and seeing as I was just laying on the couch I should do just fine as a fresh set of ears. Fine by me — it helped me feel useful. Useful, exactly! Hadrian said he knew exactly what I was talking about. Cleaning is the best way to feel useful. He said he always felt he had all this potential built up and if he didn’t use it somehow, even if it wasn’t ideal, you might never get around to using it and you’ll die wondering if you completely missed your calling. He didn’t want to clean houses and apartments for a living, he wanted to be a chef. Not a restaurant chef but a TV chef, like Emeril Lagasse, his hero. To him, Emeril was a hero, a legend. He found his calling, the most important thing in life, and on top of that, he found managed to figure out a way to broadcast it every day to the entire world. There was nothing better, he said, than showing the world over and over again how great your life is, how your biggest concern is maybe not adding enough garlic to your damn tomatoes. It’s almost a better feeling than your life actually being great.

Alas, he said, the television and culinary worlds required some schooling and he didn’t have the money to go back. He had a degree in media and broadcasting, but no clue about the kitchen world. Cleaning was the easiest job he could get that paid the best and still left him feeling energized at the end of the day. All in all, that wasn’t a bad setup. He’d leave apartments tidy and smelling fancy, go out for an early happy hour when the bars were almost empty and he’d sit at the bar and listen to the regulars and the bartender talk, and watch intently s the bartender pretend to have a task in front of her at any given time, sometimes real tasks and other times just moving things from one place to another and back again trying to appear busy but always engaged with the regulars who never had anything new to say because they spent all their free time in the bar seeking fresh ears and if none were available then old ears would do just fine. Hadrian liked to watch for the bartender’s micro-reactions, little smirks, eye-rolls, anything subconscious that showed her true feelings. Bartenders are dishonest people, he said. It’s a job and part of the job of bartender is to listen to what your customers have to say, make them feel welcome, cheer them up and keep their minds from wandering, or help their minds safely wander out of their daily rut, whatever they’re in the mood for, and always keeping a keen sense of balance and vibe, similar to the balance and vibe you create when cleaning apartments, a balance that makes people feel like someone is taking care of things around them so they won’t have to worry. But underneath the bartender’s facade are the tiny little minuscule reactions they can’t hide, or are too tired to hide, and that’s what Hadrian looks for, those bartenders who keep that balance in the bar but on the inside they’re wavering. I was done with my pita by that point, was mopping up my cracked, misshapen lips while Hadrian had barely taken a bite, was just holding his shawarma while he talked, the bread filling with sauce and grease from the lamb and starting to drip and crack apart, which is a pet-peeve of mine, two people not eating at the same pace.

He could tell I was losing interest and/or consciousness on account of his story or possibly the aforementioned meat-sweats and of course the swelling so he changed the subject and started talking about Vicky and watched me perk right up. Must have been obvious I guess. Like the television host he dreamed of becoming, he felt my energy and launched into some gossip. About Gwen the little genius who is most certainly destined to be a singer or voice actor. About her life as a model for sculptors in Gowanus. About how she lost her husband the year before, he thinks from a motorcycle related crash but wasn’t sure. They were about the same age, had been together since forever. “She didn’t tell me at first,” he said, “I thought they just got divorced. There were remnants of him all over the apartment that she didn’t take down. I started asking whether she wanted me to take down the pictures and whatnot but she said no, that she wanted to keep them up for Gwen. She seemed fine, keeping everything together. She kept bartending, kept going to school, kept herself and Gwen in a routine that would get them through the tough times. Creatures of habit, right? Why do people hate on routine so much, you know?”

Then he said, “So what do you do again? Wrestler?”

“Bodyguard.”

“Of course, right. Who do you guard?”

“I work for a chef. Maybe he can get you a TV show.”

“What’s his name?”

“Thing is…he might be dead. I’m not sure.”

“Well, where does he work? If there’s a vacancy maybe they need an apprentice.”

“It’s a sushi place on the east side. I’ll find the name for you.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to eat sushi anymore.”

“Why?”

“It’s poisonous I think. The fish have turned poisonous from over-fishing. Like, in rebellion, maybe? Does nature rebel like that? I think plagues are sort of like that. Or maybe it was that the fish was always poisonous and we didn’t realize it. We just thought it was too fancy not to eat it, and we all ignored that it was poisoning us all along. I think that was it. Or something like that. I heard it somewhere.”

“First I’ve heard of it.”

“Oh, I think I remember. There was an article, I can’t remember where. It said rogue sushi chefs were poisoning their own fish to try to make it less popular. As like a backlash against popularizing sushi. A cultural thing. Stopping foreigners from eating their sushi.”

“Foreigners? Like, Americans?”

“Yeah.”

“In New York?”

“Yeah.”

I considered the number of times I felt sick after eating at FishySmell, and wondered if it had anything to do with the rumor. A wave of blood filled with nervous little blood cells rushed to my skull all screaming at once a word I couldn’t understand.

“How Brooklyn, right? Try to keep it out of the mainstream as long as possible. Ha, get it. Mainstream. Like, the opposite of underground. No wait…underwater! HA!”

Hadrian asked if I was okay, must have sensed something was wrong, but I couldn’t get the words out, my legs and hands were cramping, my meat-sweats were transitioning to anxiety sweats. The shawarma was turning on me. It felt like all my energy was being sucked out of my body.

“Maybe you should lie down.”

“I think I need to go actually.”

He laughed. “Go where? You can barely open your eyes.”

Tears filled my eyes. I felt my chin wiggle, trying to hold back the flood. “I lost him. Two in a week! I’m a bodyguard and I lost my body, twice. Do you have any idea what that means for a guy like me? For him? A young guy, an up-and-coming chef, probably dead. And on top of it I lost a very expensive tuna loin which was meant to be distributed to the chefs of New York. Now there’s going to be a tuna shortage and its all my fault!”

“Tuna loin, eh?”

I tried to talk through my sniffles. “It was entrusted to us by the head of nationwide sushi-syndicate who might also be criminals, I don’t know. It was worth a lot of money.”

“High quality tuna loin? Like, as in, something a chef would be very happy to receive?”

“Yea, sitting in a hot car all night.”

“Was it wrapped up?”

“Yeah.”

“Great. Come on, let’s go get it.”

“Really?”

"I don’t have anything going on.”

“I don’t think you don’t want to get involved. This is a dangerous situation. Look what they did to my face!”

“How do I know you didn’t look a lot like that before you got beat up?”

I cried some more.

“Well regardless of how ugly you were, you can’t go outside with a face looking like a crushed up turtle. All lumpy and gooey and stuff.”

“Don’t say turtle, please.”

“Listen, I’m going to be honest with you because I don’t have a lot of patience and I just like to say things I believe are true even if they’re not: If your friend is dead, he’s dead, and there’s nothing you can do. So what’s the rush? I’d be more concerned about that rotting tuna in the back seat of your car. If we can get that to some chefs, maybe get on their good side, a little introduction, we could get your job back. And an apprenticeship for me…”

“You think he’s dead?” I asked.

The phone rang. It was Vicky. She said she was running late and had to go straight to work instead of stopping home first. “She says she’s sorry. But to just hang tight, she’ll be home before we know it.”

We decided we would go see if the tuna was still there, if the car was still there, swing by my apartment to get a few things, and come straight back. He made us coffee and we waited until Gwen came home. He helped her get her homework started and then told her to be a good girl while the two adults went for a little ride.

Before we stepped out the door, I stopped and said, “We can’t leave her alone. Her mom won’t be back for hours.”

“It’s fine, she knows the neighbors.”

“Are you sure?”

“I do it all the time.”

“I’d really feel more comfortable if she came with us. I mean, what if something happens to her.”

“She’s in a kid proof apartment, in a building filled with adults. It’s more dangerous bringing her with us. I mean, need I remind you of the hideousness of your face and how that all happened?” “Listen, I’m not going to be fighting anyone or saving anyone or sticking up to anyone in the next few hours. I just need some first-aid, a fresh change of clothes, and some bearings. If anyone comes for me, I’ll surrender. They won’t hurt a hipster and a little girl sitting in whatever car you own. Can’t be anything special. They’re sushi people. They’re classier than that. We take a little drive into the city, check out some tuna, head to my apartment, pack a bag, and come right back here. Sound good?”

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sweetharte · 6 years ago

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It’s not me... is it her?? Due sale on my BigCartel! Lauraharte.bigcartel.com #lauraharteillustration #fishysmell #whatsthatsmell #fishmarket #creaturefromtheblacklagoon #fishmonster #aquaticterror #shebeast #monsterbabe #monsterart #horrorart #weirdoart #lowbrow #lowbrowart #terrorofthedeep #grossbuthot

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myultimatemattress · 9 years ago

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Tip: DO NOT transport a mattress in this truck. #fish #fishysmell #fishoil #dowhat ?

#fishoil #fish #fishysmell #dowhat

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ivanwichbeauty · 4 years ago

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avatar-mak0rra · 9 years ago

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A post shared by Heather Scott Trotter (@mrsheathertrotter)

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When your hubby decides to stink up your house with NASTY fish 🐟🐟🐟😖🙊 #Ihatefish #fishysmell (First one didn't have sound apparently)

#ihatefish #fishysmell

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elbertvriend · 9 years ago

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Spending time with bestie #friends #seaside #zeerovers #bebehaciredo #fishysmell #instalike #picoftheday #beeroftheday (at Zeerovers)

#beeroftheday #zeerovers #instalike #seaside #fishysmell #bebehaciredo #friends #picoftheday

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faisalchhipa · 2 years ago

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urinary incontinence overflow

At theonsetofsymptomsandsignsofinfection, wecannotyetpredict how theinfectionwillprogress. Therefore, a historyofpreviousdiseases is veryimportant.

Uncomplicatedinfections are most oftencontractedbyotherwisehealthywomenofchildbearing age who are not pregnant.

For more information on BioapigynVaginalOintment, pleasevisit: https://dottoria.com/products/bioapigyn%C2%AE-vaginal-ointment-for-urinary-incontinence

#urinaryincontinenceoverflow

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dvbermingham · 5 years ago

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Chapter 8: Saba

For a fast-food joint, AhoySushi had a relatively pleasant odor. A hint of bamboo, a wisp of miso steam, maybe some disinfectant. Not much else. Overall this caused no hunger inside of me, no yearning whatsoever. Disconcerting for sure. Perhaps my work was having negative effects on my appetite, my one true friend in this world. But I suppose like all friends, appetites change as well, especially when you become used to the cozy, under-tended, and often unwelcoming atmosphere of fishysmells.

The place was clean and organized in a very corporate kind of way. All the red and yellow made it seem like a McDonald’s spin-off. I’d heard of them popping up in the midwest, but this was the first I had seen it in New York. They were notoriously despised by the conservative sushi elite, who believed believing this was just one step closer to sushi becoming available in the frozen dinner aisle.

And yet a new generation seemed to enjoy it enough that they kept popping up all over the country at drive-throughs, strip-malls, regular malls, truck-stops, ball-parks, stadium-kiosks, penny-arcades, bath-houses, gyms, truck-baths, stadium-arcades, you name it, AhoySushi was there. Somehow New York held out. Until now.

“Lane and I went to the same culinary school. You’ll like her. Just don’t say anything about the pirate costume. She finds it a bit demeaning. If we’re lucky she’ll give us a little information.”

We stood in the doorway, the only people in the restaurant other than the chef, a young woman wearing a the last remains of her pirate costume uniform — an orange bandana, a leather vest over her chef coat — reading a book, with what looked like a travel-sized checkers board set up in front of her.

“We’re closing in five minutes,” she said without looking up.

“What, you’re not going to serve an old friend?”

“Matzu!

“Lanie, how are you?”

“Well I’ll let you take a guess. There’s a digital menu above my head, I’m wearing a pirate costume, or what some corporate HR guy told me was a pirate costume, there’s a bunch of pre-cut sushi sitting in cardboard hamburger boxes, we haven’t had any customers since two pm and those guys just ordered sodas, exchanged folded up newspapers and left. But you know what the worst part is?”

“What?”

“I’m in charge!”

“Well shit.”

“Not to mention the fact that this pirate theme is the absolute worst. I mean, no way did pirates have the patience nor the dexterity to roll sushi. It requires practice, dedication, a sedentary lifestyle for Pete’s sake. It’s not a cuisine for aquatic nomads.”

“I didn’t want to bring it up, but it definitely feels a little contrived.”

“Hook em while they’re young, that’s the idea. Kids will come in for the fun of it.

“Did you know that in Japan when families go out for sushi they order the kids Ikura and Tobiko? They like how the roe pop in their mouths. Funny what you can teach impressionable people.”

“Maybe that’s what I’m doing wrong. Whenever a kid comes in I just yell in a pirate voice, tell the disappointed kids that we don’t have fish-sticks, and give them the finger as they leave.”

“Speaking of fingers,” Matzu said, shooting me a glare, “I brought you a gift.”

There was a moment of exchanged silences, after which I excused myself and promptly returned with the tuna.

“Since when do you have a manservant, Matzu?”

“He’s my bodyguard. I got promoted.”

“Promoted? You? Hah, that’s rich. You’ve never been promoted in your life. Everyone ahead of you just keeps dying and like an idiot you keep stepping up to take their place.”

There was a brief, awkward silence that I used to reposition the tuna. “So you heard about that?” said Matsuzaka.

She burst into laughter, the kind that goes on way too long. Annoyingly long. I had to reposition the tuna once again.

“Right. Anyway, so what is this? A tuna loin? And what do you expect me to do with a tuna loin?” “Serve it.”

“Great idea! I’ll serve it. Let me just let all the customers know we have the freshest tuna money can buy, and I’ll serve it up on a platter! Hey, LuLu!”

A young woman, more fully adorned with pirate gear, popped her head out from the back. “Yes chef?”

“Guess what?”

“What?”

“We have tuna. Throw out all the other shit no one is buying and we’ll serve this instead.”

LuLu flipped her the bird and disappeared into the back.

“Nobody wants your fucking backseat tuna, Matzu. And besides, this guy keeps smelling his fingers like he’s got some kind of crush on it. No thanks.”

I asked if I could put it down, it was getting heavier and my shoulders and neck were starting to ache. Lane just shrugged and said to put it anywhere.

“So who died this time?”

“Takuto.”

“Obviously. Saw that coming a mile away.”

“What do you mean?” “The guy was in his own world, never questioned anything that was going on around him. And then on top of it I hear people talking. That’s the one thing about this place. It’s quiet enough and the acoustics are this strange corporate perfection that when the occasional sketchball comes in I can hear pretty much anything. I just heard some stuff, that’s all.”

“But what do you mean exactly?”

“Listen, I don’t need any trouble right now. I’ve got studying to do.” She pointed to her book. “The regionals are next week. It’s my chance to get out of this grind. I’m gonna win big, gonna change my life, get outta the restaurant business for good.

“We’re not trying to cause any trouble. Just here for a little information.”

Lane glanced back to her board and nervously centered a few of the pieces. “I don’t anything about any information.”

“Lanie, come on. You know me. You can trust me. I’m on the chopping block here. I’ll be next if I can’t get my bearings. And Lou here will be 0-2.

It would be 0-7, actually,” I corrected without thinking.

Matzu waved the comment away like swatting a fly. “Even still. You don’t want Lou to get even further in a rut, right? We gotta get him out of this, give him a win. Come on, if not for me, do it for Lou. What did you hear about Takuto getting knocked off?”

She thought for a moment and then said, “The Partition guys are the only reason this place exists. I get handed envelopes for the guild dues every two weeks. Otherwise nothing goes in the tills, nothing of any substance at least. In exchange they use this place as a hangout. They’d come in and sit and talk, sometimes they’re a little drunk and pretend like they own the joint and mess with me and LuLu, take free sushi and then change their mind when they see it.”

“And these guys were talking about Takuto?”

“I heard his name come up about three weeks ago. I don’t know what they said, I try to stay out of it. The whole thing stresses me out to no end. That’s why I’m getting out of it. No more late nights, no more goons, no more wasted customers swatting the door chime when they find out we don’t serve ramen. See, I’m getting all worked up just talking about it. This is why I have to quit. My doctor says I have the worst blood pressure in the city. Can you believe that? He says all the general practitioners text about which patients have the worst blood pressure and I’m it, I’m the one. Literally the worst they’ve ever seen. So I’m going into the checkers game. That’s the new ticket outta here. First regionals, then nationals. Then a world tour."

“That actually sounds way more stressful.”

“Is there anything else?”

“So nothing else? No other eavesdroppings?”

“Droppings?”

Matzu looked at me as though I might have some questions of my own, but all I could think about was how badly I wanted to accompany her to the checkers tournament. It sounded like a perfect fit for me. So I mouthed the name Guttenberg and he shook his head and sneered.

“You said Takuto was in his own world. What did you mean by that?”

“Listen, I don’t like disparaging the dead.”

“Come on, just this once.”

“I don’t know…”

“Damnit Lanie! This is a war. And restaurants like AhoySushi are going to be the battleground if we don’t work together on this. I could be next, and the next guy after me might come looking for you. Then kiss your checkers career goodbye!”

That seemed to freak her out. “Alright, alright, Jeez just leave the checkers out of it.” She paused for a moment to collect herself, then bookmarked her page.

“Takuto was a jazz guy,” she said. “He didn’t just like the music, I mean, the whole thing. He legitimately pretended he was living in the 1940s New York City noir jazz scene, Charlie Parker and Duke and all that. High-culture LARPing. Someone like that, who doesn’t have their head in the present, in reality, isn’t going to last long. Not in the sushi game.”

“Do you know where he would hang out? The jazz clubs, I mean.”

“These were underground joints, man, off the grid, word of mouth only. They didn’t want just anyone coming in and spoiling the immersion, you know? But last week, when he stopped by to say hello, he did ask if I knew anywhere he could hide out for a while. I think he was getting into some hot water in that jazz scene.”

They hugged. She and I shook hands, and we wished her good luck in the tournament.

When we got back to the car, Matzu told me to take him to the swankiest jazz club Takuto ever visited. I knew just the place.

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