The Devil's Escapades

My mind has been filled all day with the thoughts of a bridge, cars, and a cat I first met when I got to this land of the rising sun. And the sound of dripping water and fluorescent lights buzzing above is filling my ears. With a man named Steve filling my vision. A draft is moving throughout our seven-level building (if I remember correctly) because the insulation in here is shit. Whenever it gets cold, my feet are always the first to go; they just become these ice cubes. That dead-looking, mucus, piss yellow lights good old Steve. As well as everything else. And good old Steve is like any other white guy around 5'11 with suit pants and a classic dress shirt. Brown hair and a fresh, clean-cut shave.

“Almost got hit by a truck on the hike over here," I say.

“What?” He replies while leaning on the water jug next to us with a cup to his lip.

“I jumped in front of a truck with my blood alcohol level being two percent.”

“So any other day for you.”

“I would have done it right if it was.”

“Maybe you would, but if we are to learn from history, you would find a way to fuck up.” Steve looks down on his digital watch with another sip. “Happy birthday.”

“It’s not my birthday; it’s Wednesday.”

“Yes, Wednesday the fourteenth of December. Congrats, you’re thirty-two.”

I look around for any cubicle that’s hanging a calendar. Finally finding one with thirteen days crossed out with a red Sharpie. The date being December 14th, 2011.

“Shit.”

“Yup.”

“Fucking, December.”

“You want to grab a drink after work.”

“Sure, there’s nothing better to do on a frozen Wednesday.”

I pull my pocket watch out and check the time. “Time to put the nose back to the grindstone.”

Sitting here, pushing papers and looking at this Windows '98 in this gray box without a roof, my mind starts to wander. Thirty-two goddamn years. Man. Fourteen years since that thing; ain’t that a kick to the head? All the time in this world is slipping between my fingers. Can’t complain too much; spent most of those years boozing and smoking, wasting away in that little apartment. Oh, those years weren't too awful; that one long stupor cut my mind apart, melting away any memories I could have made. And hey, I was able to keep this fucking job… I don’t even know what we do here.

Thirty-two years… Fuck me.

With a good five long hours sit in front of me; all I have is just the mind to entertain myself. Thinking about those cigs and flask within my coat calling to me. And thinking about what to do after drinks. Gotta watch “Monty Python and the Holy Grail”; skipped it last year. Maybe Apocalypse Now Redux and Blue Velvet. It all depends on how drunk I am by night's end, and if I could find some Pabsts.

The workday has drawn to its end, and Steve and I went out to the streets of Tokyo. I could never remember why some random American company was over here; maybe they were here before the bubble busted and never left. Still don’t know how it’s even fucking open. Well, no reason to keep thinking about work when I’m on these streets. Where screens are everywhere lighting up the grey skyscrapers with ads all over, someone always trying to sell you something. But that’s true with all cities; oh, good old Philly, I do sometimes miss you. And with the Tokyo Tower piercing the sky… The very sky that was once believed to be the heavens.

“So what’s the plan, Steve?” I ask.

“I'm thinking about doing this Korean buffet nearby.” Steve replies.

“Cheap booze and cheaper meat in excess, all right.” The two of us, walking through the streets of good old Tokyo. Living here for fourteen years, but all I’ve ever been to is those little rooms. But that’s life, isn’t it?

“You used to be a drunk, right?” Steve asks while standing on a sidewalk waiting for the light to change.

“Yeah, if you want to put it that way. Christ.” I reply with the cold version of steam coming out of my mouth.

“What did you do about the hangovers?”

“A prairie oyster, hair of the dog, and enough aspirin to kill a baby horse. But that last step was only for special occasions like a work meeting.” I give him a light whack with my elbow. “You know, at the job I was pretty much drunk for twelve years straight. Don’t even know what we do.”

“How come you stopped? Got a lady or something.”

My eyes look towards a place. A place far, too long away to see from here. “I never stopped; I just don’t drink as hard, and I don’t smoke anymore. Never did like the smell of cigs.” Our eyes find themselves upon the building we’ve been walking to. “All this chatter seems to have filled the walk over here.”

As we went in, I could see the setting sun. Always makes me think about the rising sun, and that always makes me chuckle. Well, the smell of cheap booze and stale cigarettes welcome us in. Just like home. The place was somewhat empty; maybe Wednesdays aren’t one of their big nights. I see a cockroach move across the floor. Maybe every night is an off night.

We find a waitress at the entrance, and she brings us over to one of the dozen or so open tables, and we take our seats. Finding the seats to be both clean and comfortable. Which I thought neither would be present. We glance over the menus and order our food and drinks.

“How's your department?” I ask after drinking some water.

“Same as always, just damn paper pushing.” He takes his own drink of water. “You know what I’m interested in?” Piece a cig into his mouth. “How do you not know what we've been doing? I’ve been at it half my life.”

“Well, all and all I know what we do in a broad sense. It would be rather hard not to. But in the specific sense of if we sell something or work with clients, I have no clue. Hell, we could be working for a death squad; I wouldn't know. I just show up from six to five and finish every paper that stacks up on my desk. Then head back to my apartment to get ready for the same the next day. Could be gone for ten years and I won’t have any work piled up.”

“…Why do you get to work at six? The place doesn’t even open till nine.”

“Don’t find much enjoyment in slumber. Maybe that truck driver did.”

“Do you even get paid for those two hours?”

The waitress comes back with our booze and food.

“Maybe I don’t really look at the paycheck. The only thing that matters is if there’s enough for the rent and food, and of course the bottle.” I say, finishing with one gap from my drink, and Steve begins to cook the meat.

The booze is like any cheap booze, but the meat isn't anything to protest about. There’s not much special about said meal we had, but hell it was nice. And the nicety just went on into the night. Two men talking about any little thing they could think of.

Steven moves in a bit closer to talk. Finding himself almost all the way over our little table. “I’ve been reading something.”

“I will whack you, if you start trying to get me to join a cult.”

“No, see I read this article the other day, and it talked about disappearances across the world throughout history. And listen to this, they say before every disappearance there was always a brilliant ray of light that appeared.”

“Were you really that bored at work?”

“It was something to do.” He says picking up a piece of beef.

“They probably just killed themselves or got murdered and thrown in a dark hole no one could find… or eaten.”

Steve chockes a bit and says, “Christ, man, I’m trying to eat here.”

“I didn’t bring the topic up.”

“You brought up eating people.”

“And you brought up magic.” I say, while I chew my food.

Time moves on and we grow ever drunker… And fuller. Going ever on with our conversations, but both know that the night is, in fact, coming to its end. I pull out my pocket watch and check the time.

Ten-forty.

We find ourselves stumbling out from the Korean place with more than just a mere buzz. Standing in front of the restaurant, Steve and I decide to reach out our hands. “It’s been fun, old pal.”

“Sure has,” Steve says, returning my hand with his own. “Goodnight.”

“Yeah, goodnight.”

We start to walk away from each other, but before we get too far from each other, Steve yells to me, “I forgot something!” He rummages through his pockets, finds what he’s looking for, and throws over a gilded Zippo lighter over to me. “I remember you saying something about losing your old one, and I couldn’t figure out anything else to get you, so there.”

I catch it, and say “Thanks.”

“Check the body.”

So I did, and I found a quote from Doctor Faustus: "The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike: the devil will come, and Faustus must be damned!" How much did this cost that crazy bastard?

“Thank you, Steve. Have a good night.”

“You too!”

Oh, that cheeky bastard made me chuckle to myself a bit in this frozen land.

A city is never quiet, but tonight I feel I'm the only man here. Left behind by all of man. The sky that was once clear only a few hours ago is now covered in a layer of clouds. Nimbostratus clouds (the dark/grey clouds), if I remember right. Snowflakes start to fall upon me. I always like the day after a good amount of snow. The beauty of it all, before I have to go out there and freeze my ass off. A land of pure white is so blinding that I find myself thankful that I haven’t taken these sunglasses off since I got them. I doubt there will be that much snow, but only time can tell.

The silence is starting to creep me out a bit at this point, so I put my earplugs into my MP3 player, and I put on a song for myself to fill this endless silence. Playing The Indifference of Heaven live at Biskuithalle, Bonn, Germany, by Warren Zevon. Because good old Warren is the best that ever was. And then In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins. With that one scene from Miami Vice never going far from my mind.

My eyes find their selfs drawn upon the sky for a reason that I can’t say. Maybe a wish to see the stars. How I miss seeing them. Well, at the moment I look up I find a bright light cutting through the gray of the cloud and the black abyss of the sky. With three pillars of light form across the city, and then I find there’s one on me.

“I guess you were right. Old pal.”

A feeling, as if there’s a thousand cuts that has form all over my body, within a millisecond fills within me. A feeling so familiar but distant at the same time, as if echoes of the future. My mind can’t comprehend anything that’s happening, so instead of a screech or a yell, I just stand here in grand amounts of pain. Nothing, not even a word leaving my month.

A blinding yellow, stolen from the very sun consumes me, and an explosion of white light surrounds me. Then I find myself with the taste of the dirt filling my mouth, and the only sound I hear is some type of bird chirping.

I tilt my head up, “Fucking hell…”

“Doko de ikite mo nagaremono

Douse sasurai hitorimino

Asu wa doko yara kaze ni kike

Kawaii ano ko no mune ni kike

Ah Tokyo nagaremono

Nagare hatenai tabi ni dete

Itsuka wasureta Tokyo no

Naite kureru na yoru no ame

Otoko inochi wa akaku chiru

Ah Tokyo nagaremono” — Tokyo Nagaremono Bushi from Tokyo Drifter