One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyos fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl.

Tell you the truth, shes not that good-looking. She doesnt stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isnt young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: Shes the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, theres a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert.

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