Shirakawa, the new clerk at my neighborhood convenience store, is adorable. She is polite, remembers my cigarette brand after only two visits, and even squeezes my hand when giving me change. Her soft white hand around my work-worn fingers feels like an angel's wing. She must love me, and I am crazy about her too. For the first time, this single man in his thirties feels life turning around and eagerly plans to return tomorrow, unaware that she has a very different side.