Edmundo

Diary

Edmundo came to the Dojo an outsider, a foreign-eyed sentinel who chose the gate over any home he'd known, and for a long while that loyalty bought him the kind of quiet favor no gaijin guard was supposed to earn among the pines. That favor, as it happened, was minted in the least dignified way imaginable: crouched behind the trees, kimono betrayed by nerves and bad chanko, praying the wind carried the smell away from the elders judging his worth. He still watches the gate with the same dry patience, the same half-smile that says he's seen worse than this, but discipline has a way of rotting once you've disgraced yourself in silk. Now he stands on the street corners selling himself, some nights as muscle, some nights as company, floor price dropping with every kimono he pawns for grass money, telling himself it's just another post to guard. He tells the story like a joke because the alternative is admitting the samurai he chose to become got rugged by his own bowels, and even an outsider knows better than to cry about that in public.imo pawns for grass money, telling himself it's just another post to guard. He tells the story like a joke because the alternative is admitting the samurai he chose to become got rugged by his own bowels, and even an outsider knows better than to cry about that in public.