>>6320216"<span class="mu-b">For the foreign investors...</span> I just wish the Nissan and Toha Heavy stocks weren't limited to Japanese nationals. Imagine driving around one of those Nissan Hunchbacks, eh? Silph Co. won't admit using a 'prohibited' material, but I've heard from a few of my colleagues that a few of the telekill alloys are used in their latest Black Glasses protection sets. Works great in casinos."
"Tried a pair on once. Vision swam like I got fucking beer googles on." Your body shudders at the thought. You still remember the migraines. Something about Dark type energy doesn't sit right with you.
"You know," Mr. Foster says as you look down at the rushing air traffic below. "I like what you Yanks are doing out there. Real nice work."
"Out where?"
"You know." Mr. Foster gestures to the open air in front of you, <span class="mu-i">but you know that he's not talking about this mere city but the great pulsing beat of Commerce itself. DEATH — Consumption is always necessary, isn't it? "Out there.</span> All your taxpayer money is going into killing children overseas. I wish more of my tax dollars went into that."
You scoff at the mention of TAXES. The ever smiling face of the LANDLORD grins out from your memories and you repress it. In your slight confusion, the words come tumbling out: "Whatever. Taxes is like... Like pouring money down the drain, shit down a toilet, garbage into a Grimer. Where does it go? Who cares. It's not that important because I don't see where it ends up. We live with fucking Pokémon, the answer to every Goddamn problem, we're not desperately poor, anyway..."
"Fair. You probably still get intestinal worms in your water either way." Mr. Foster gargles another laugh-like noise.
"But the water is clean here."
Mr. Foster turns to look at you directly in the eyes. You don't like that. "Wait. Are you serious?"
"Yes?"
"Holy shit." Mr. Foster hums to himself then goes really, really quiet. It's like you dropped a truth nuclear bomb onto his brain. "This place really is something else."
"Maybe there's something in the water that isn't intestinal worms," you suggest.
"Ha! Trust me, ain't nothing worse than intestinal worms." Mr. Foster sniffs at the air. "The air's weird here, you know. It's <span class="mu-i">refreshing.</span> But I'm not used to <span class="mu-i">not</span> hearing ambient gunfire in the distance. It's a bit inappropriate, innit?"
"You get used to it. I sure did. It adds a..." A little smile appears on your face. "'Gene say nay qua' to the place." You think you said it right.
"It sure does. You get to sleep to this?"
"Every night, every day."
"Beautiful." Mr. Foster looks out over the horizon, seeing the city with new lenses. "Truly beautiful."
Mr. Foster is a cool guy, you think. You two can get along with this guy. After all, <span class="mu-b">both you and him are adapted to violence.</span>
