I’ll never forget the day I walked into a Japanese restaurant

And saw people fighting over a bottle of nihonshu

It was carnage

Middle-aged women tossed cutlery at each other

While young bloods tussled around on the floor

Kicking, biting and squirming to get a taste

One diner even used her pearl necklace as a garotte

And when she’d stepped over the competition

She tried to lift the bottle until the veins popped in her head

(I don’t think she read the label)

Is there such a thing as sake in the stone?

I’m not sure

But it didn’t stop other contenders from trying

Each person crawled through the war zone

Determined to prove their worthiness

But the bottle refused to budge

In the wake of such overwhelming chaos

Where was I?

I was enjoying a sip of cold futsushu

Some drinks don’t have to be premium

Some drinks are worthy enough