You pickup a pair of beautifully black lacquered black zoris with an intricate inlaid design.
Mike hands you a pair of white socks with the big toe separated saying, "The right socks for the right shoes." He grins with Southern hospitality.
You peel off your socks and shoes. Your feet are a bit sweaty, Maybe you should wash them first? Nah. You plunge them into the zori socks and then step up into the zoris. The socks were tight going on, but seemed to have stretched. You feel a blast of cold air, your clothing hangs loosely on your body. Mike is looking at you grinning. Behind him in a shop mirror, you see yourself over his shoulder. It's you, but it's not. It's you, but it's changing. Your light brown hair is streaked with black, and the black streets are increasing, you skin color seems to be changing.
Mike is doing something with his phone. He pushes a button, and turns the phone to face you, as music blares out. "Ya'll need a musical accompaniment, my friend," Mike drawls.
"I think I'm turning Japanese, I think I'm turning Japanes, I really think so..." blares the old 80's tune from Mike's phone.