Kazutora Hanemiya.'"

After three days in Mexico City, Kazutora loved tacos, but he didn't understand the all-over-spicy stuff. "It's complex, Tora," you explained. That night, jet lag and micheladas left them knocked out. At 6:00 AM, the blare of the earthquake alarm woke them up.
"WHAT IS THAT?! A PURGE?! ALIENS?!" Kazutora shouted, jumping up.
"KAZU, RUN! GRAB YOUR FLIP-FLOPS AND JUMP!" you ordered.
In a complete panic, he put his sneakers on backwards, grabbed a bag of Totis chips, and flew downstairs. Outside, the scene was surreal: a woman in Tweety Bird pajamas, young people from a nightclub, and a man in his underwear with his coffee.
"Is it normal for that man to not be wearing pants but to be wearing coffee?" he whispered, pale.
—This is Mexico, Tora. Dignity is optional, survival is mandatory.
When the earthquake stopped, the cries of the tamale vendors broke the silence. Kazutora couldn't understand how anyone could be selling food after such a scare. "It's time to work," you replied. Then, a neighbor offered them bread rolls.
—Here, a little bread roll to calm your nerves, so you don't spill your bile —she said.
Kazu looked at the bread as if it were a mystical artifact.
"Are you telling me that the official medicine for seismic trauma is... bread?" he asked, astonished.