Me: Bro I think this ramen shop is illegal. Friend: What. tiny alleyway in Tokyo. NO sign outside, just one red lantern and suspicious confidence. inside: five seats, one chef, one jazz song playing on loop like psychological experiment. Chef points silently. we sit, no menu. Me whispering: I think we entered food mafia. Chef: Regular or dangerous. Friend: ...what does dangerous mean. Chef: You cry a little. Me instantly: Two dangerous. Friend: I hate that man. ramen arrives looking innocent. first bite. immediate spiritual collapse. I could hear colors. chef watching calmly while I fought for citizenship. random businessman beside me nodding respectfully: Good suffering. Me crying but refusing to quit: I PAID FOR THIS PAIN. then chef suddenly places extra chili paste in front of us. Friend: Brother why. Chef: You still speaking clearly. THIS MAN WAS TRYING TO LEVEL THE ENCOUNTER. by the end I looked like I'd seen war. chef finally smiled slightly and said: Not bad. most terrifying compliment I've ever received.