Photo Booths

Personally, I’m not normally into taking selfies. I give very few tosses about having records of what my noggin’s up to at any given time. That said, I’ve developed a bit of a thing for these Japanese photo booths. Known as purikura, they’re they’re actually kind of nostalgic for me, as it happens. I remember a couple of these things being at the shopping centre I frequented as a teenager, except they weren’t that elaborate – basically, you could choose from a selection of sickeningly cutesy frames for your shot, which you then printed out as a sheet of stickers.

Today’s machines here in Tokyo are next level, essentially running a bad photo edit on your face and body whether you ask for it or not, and providing digital copies of your shots via email. Addictive? Yes.

Maybe this is how Brentley feels about gachapon. Perhaps I finally get it.


I’m not altogether sure what’s going on with Emmaline, but I suspect it has something to do with those kawaii photo booths. She doesn’t know that I have these suspicions, by the way.

This is what happens every time we go out lately: Emmaline tells us that she’s going to the toilet, then dashes off down the street for a quick selfie session, thinking we won’t notice. Honestly, I don’t think Cathy’s cottoned on yet, which is pretty normal by her standards.

I know that Emmaline judges me about my capsule toy addiction, so I’m secretly stoked that she’s found a habit that’s just as bad as mine – so much for her Miss Perfect charade. I’ll keep it to myself for the time being. 


Emmaline’s been sneaking off a lot lately, and she’s being very secretive about it. I’ve been pretending not to notice, because I don’t want be nosey. But I’m becoming a tad concerned for her welfare now – what on earth is she up to?

When we met for lunch today, I saw her dash off down an alleyway and return clutching a small package, which she was hastily stuffing into her coat pocket. Should I be worried?