On the way home from band practice at 1 am, I needed a banana. A massive nest of matted black hair full of chewed gum and dandelions blocked the entrance to the banana store. The face belonging to this life's worth of hair stared saucer-eyed at the floor with one hand down her pants and the other in her mouth. She was about my age. Everyone walked around her, buying bananas and pretending that it's fine that Japan doesn't have proper facilities for the mentally ill.