This is a story about my head.

Last week, I was riding my bike around Kyoto and I came across this.

It’s a pile of heads! I’ve been told this is some sort of fashion school, so I guess they upgraded their head models. I found one that looked like me and took it.

Winding my way through the tiny little neighborhoods that make up most of the city, I fell into a pattern of not paying very much attention. This proved to be a problem when I crossed paths with a small truck whose driver was doing the same thing.

SMACK.

The truck, though braking furiously, slammed into my bike and sent me flying. I am, of course, luckier than a fresh rabbit’s foot, so my bike and I both landed intact. The head arced gently through the air in the opposite direction and landed near the driver’s side door.

I looked up to see the truck driver exiting the vehicle, running towards the head and letting out exactly the kind of sound that someone who believes they’ve just decapitated a cyclist might.

He stopped, looked at me, then back at the head, and sighed.