I see your face before me
Yet I no longer recognize you.
Where are you?
The you I knew yesterday.
I saw you in the fog
As if through frosted glass.
You were so near
And yet so far away.
You glistened in the moonlight
As if your skin was made of glass.
You were good to me
And yet you were a stranger.
PSYCHIATRIST: So, have you gotten used to the mask, or has the mask gotten used to you?
MR. OKUYAMA: You are a great doctor, a real expert. You always know where things are heading.
PSYCHIATRIST: Are you drunk?
MR. OKUYAMA: Is that bad?
PSYCHIATRIST: Not in the least.
MR. OKUYAMA: It's easier to observe me, when I've lost all restraint, right?
PSYCHIATRIST: Exactly. [To waitress] Another for me.
MR. OKUYAMA: Is it my true self that's getting drunk or the mask?
PSYCHIATRIST: I'd love to know the answer to that one.
MR. OKUYAMA: How would I know?
PSYCHIATRIST: By the way, we should start thinking about a new name and job for you.
MR. OKUYAMA: Why?
PSYCHIATRIST: It's fine, if you haven't decided yet.
MR. OKUYAMA: Name, work, real life - my bandaged self will suffice for all that.
PSYCHIATRIST: You sure the mask won't mind?
MR. OKUYAMA: The mask's only job is to let me savor the same emotions as normal people.
PSYCHIATRIST: I wouldn't say that. The other day, you had two beers after a shot of morphine, and you were fine. Tonight, a beer and a half, with no drugs, and you are flying. Understand? It's not the beer that's made you drunk. It's the mask.
MR. OKUYAMA: Nonsense.
Where are you?
The you I knew yesterday...