I remember the night I decided to watch Aikatsu very well, like the back of my hand.
It was dark, a warm July night in the hood, not a cloud in the sky. My friend Henry and I were walking back to my apartment from Target. Even that far north, the city was alive with hustle. Short Hispanic men washed cars in the street. Kids played in an open fire hydrant. Someone three streets down was blaring bachata.
And Henry turned to me, looked me in the eye, and said, “You know what, I think you should just watch that show. Let’s watch it together. I think it will make you a better person.