Editors note: This was the first of two versions I did with the same basic story. I think I like the how the second one turned out better. You can read the second version here.
On the day Tokyo was being destroyed by giant robots, Ichiro Ramone was 5,470 miles away enjoying a nice sandwich. Ichiro was born to Anzu Watanabe, a supermodel Japanese mother and Ricardo Ramone, a rich, industrialist Mexican father 22 years ago in Tokyo. He was an outcast to both countries. So naturally, as soon as possible, he left his family in Tokyo and moved to Los Angeles, where he now makes a living working in a ticket booth at a Hollywood Boulevard pornographic movie theater. A job that had its share of obvious drawbacks, certainly, but it was not without certain perks. The owner, Mr. Perkins, was an ex-scientologist who had hit it big working at a startup during the dot-com boom and left it all behind to buy the theater from its previous owners, a transvestite named Denise (formerly Dennis) and her wife Charlene, a retired porn star. In addition to paying Ichiro a salary, Mr. Perkins allowed Ichiro to stay in a room just off of the projection booth, so Ichiro was spared the expense of an aparment in LA, which saved him a considerable amount of money. Ichiro was saving all of his spare money so he could go to culinary school and one day open his own restaurant. He needed to do this on his own, without his parent’s money, to prove to his father that he was a worthy son. When he had last seen his parents, it had been a heated, angry exchange, and he had stormed out of their penthouse apartment and not seen or spoken to them since. He eventually bought a one-way ticket to Los Angeles.
Ichiro was eating his sandwich in a small cafe across the street from the post office where he kept his PO Box (exclusive culinary schools frowned upon applications with a Pornographic Movie Theather as the return address). He finished the sandwich and proceeded across the street at precisely 12:05 to collect his mail, hoping today would be the day that his acceptance letter to the CIA arrived. Ichiro had no back-up plan — if he wasn’t accepted, he was prepared to spend the rest of his days working for Mr. Perkins and selling $5.00 tickets to porn shows. He opened his box, and inside was a letter bearing the distinctive circle-leaf logo of the CIA. His hands were shaking as he opened the letter, but after reading only a few words, he knew his dream was shattered. He slumped to the ground next to his box and began sobbing openly. This being Los Angeles, no one gave him a second look.
After a time, he collected himself, and slowly made his way back to his ticket booth.