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His eyebrows sparkling, his white beard hangs down to his chest. The thatched mats, spread outside his chise, spread softly, his splendid attos. He polishes, cross-legged, his makiri, with his eyes completely absorbed.
He is Ainu.
The god of Ainu Mosir, Ae-Oine Kamuy, descendant of Okiku-Rumi, He perishes, a living corpse. The summers day, the white sunlight, unabrushed, ends simply through his breath alone.
I have a friend who only plays one game at a time for years. Because of this, he is unbeatable at Mario Baseball, NFS Most Wanted, and Gears of War 3.
Games your friends are really good at, but you suck at.