Ayame Weber ordered an apple maple tea latte from City Bakery in Tokyo, Japan. She was a Japanese/German American visiting her mother’s homeland for the first time as an adult. She felt right at home in the bakery with its warm light and enticing smells of bread, cinnamon, and coffee. Hurriedly, she picked a seat in the corner, eager to write in her blog.

_“One by one, they’ll hear my call, then this wicked town, will follow my fall.”_ She typed the quote from the Joker out of the comic book, Batman: The Man Who Laughs, by Ed Brubaker. She intended to compare the Tokyo railway attack by a guy dressed as the Joker, to the Aurora, Colorado shootings by another man dressed as the joker. She’d already done enough research to find out they were very different men. _Why did they hear the Joker’s call, _she wrote provocatively.

As she sipped her hot tea, she felt very safe and content. Tokyo was an amazing city, and the bakery was a great place to work from. Cinnamon wafted from a nearby mug. Time flew by as she typed. As the door opened, she heard bicycles whiz past. It was almost time to go. _The Joker was never meant to inspire a movement or a copycat from the point of view of his creators. He’s just a villain written to keep things interesting and for Batman to chase. People who want their life to look like a comic book, can’t go out and become a superhero, but they can be a villain. The Tokyo railway stabber—_she refused to call him by his name—_told investigators he was worthless and wanted to be killed. The Aurora shooter said his life would have more worth the more he killed, as if he started on empty. It’s as if they want to catch a superhero’s attention, and they don’t care if they get killed because they are so miserable and mad. Theres always been a portion of the population more vulnerable to rage than others. What makes Japan and America so different when it comes to violence? I’ll be taking a fresh look, throwing out preconceived notions, as the days go on. _

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That’s it. She shut her laptop and took a last sip of her tea, knowing it would be cold, but liking it anyway. She smiled at the room while looking around at all the people. No one looked her way. It was hard to imagine the mind that would blame strangers for not caring to know them, or blame themselves for not being likable. It was just a simple matter of everyone being busy and not wanting to intrude on each other. She was going to go meet her extended family next. First, she ordered a box of pastries to bring to them as a gift. Life was good. She walked out of City Bakery feeling like she was on the trail of a great story.

END