Peas in a Pod

Shinya had been assigned to the dock, working to clean and bring in cargo from the mainland. Each morning, more people showed up. One, two, three boats docking in the city, same doe-eyed expression, more cops moving in. They had his number, that’s for sure: he always felt watched, and more times than not, there was a blue shirt around. Working around cops was nothing new for him, but getting to go home was. It almost made the sore muscles and salty fish smell worth it. At the end of each shift, his boss (an old dock manager from Osaka) handed him blue tokens.

“What the hell is this?” Shinya blurted.

“Watch your mouth, boy.” He was built like a bald gorilla.

“Where’s my damn money”

“You’re looking at it. Cops gave it to me, told me to pay you with it. Paid me in it. The shops accept it, so just take it before I change my mind”

Shinya shuffled the coins in his hand, heading to the local store. Half-defeathered, the Gal was now running the cash register at the market. She looked up to see Shinya… then back down at her phone. He browsed the aisles, noticing that the prices were listed in denominations of red, green, and blue token iconographs. He grabbed an assortment and brought it over to the Gal. “Here”
“Ok,” she scanned the items half-lidded, her whole appearance helter-skelter. Her hair was still bleached blond, but her nail gloss was chipping, and her spray tan was washed away. The town was well supplied, but was there some kind of ration? Was that what the tokens were for? They made her clean up for her job, but they didn’t import polish remover or black hair dye? She finished scanning his items, and a total appeared on a screen in front of her: 3 blue tokens, 2 red, 1 green. He looked at her, bewildered. “Just put in 4. Blue is the biggest one”. She pointed to a slot near the screen, looking like a coin receptacle on a vending machine.

He followed her directions, plopping the coins into the slot. From below, 4 red and 10 green popped out. He still wasn’t sure what the conversion to yen was. He picked up his pucks and mumbled “Thanks” on his way out.

“No, thank you.” She said it like an afterthought; she hoped neither Shinya nor even herself heard her say it. A pregnant silence held before Shinya moved on.

Naturally, everyone from the first wave lived together, so he saw the gal frequently either after work or before. The NEET became his neighbor, barely leaving his home. Somehow, he seemed to have enough talent to work a remote job, managing some administrative work for the Island. Shinya made it his business to know: he wasn’t going to slave on the dock so some sap could rot his brain in front of a screen.

He opened the door; it wasn’t locked, and marched inside. He didn’t see anyone on the first story, so he ascended the stairs. He walked to a closed door, the crack underneath illuminated by the glow of artificial light. He let himself in, pushing aside accumulated garbage on the floor. It had been only a few weeks, but the NEET had already decorated his room with garbage, bags, empty cans, and finished magazines stacked on all four corners. The only thing that looked organized was his money, which he kept in tall coin towers next to his desk. He was glued to two screens. Had he bought the computer, or was that a favor from the feds? Shinya made no announcement; he hadn’t been noticed. The NEET had headphones on and was dead to the world. To Shinya’s shock, it did look like he was actually doing some work, though he was grinding at some game on the other monitor. He got tired of watching him and tore off his headphones. “Having fun?”

The NEET jumped, making a face like an agitated puffer fish. “You broke in?” He asked as if Shinya wasn’t standing in front of him.

“Depends, who’s the homeowner? Where’s the lease? I’ll take it up with him.”

“A philosophical burglar, will you lecture me to death?”

Shinya sat on the bed, forcing the NEET to live with his presence. “What are you working on?”

“None of your business. Prefectural database, household registries, early revenue audit, website architecture for the provisional Prefecture 48 website.”

Loose Lips. “And they put you in charge of that?”

“I should call the police, you know, have them send you back to jail; this is unacceptable, I have rights, and I don’t have to accept being intruded on by anyone, let alone…”

And that’s how their relationship began. Yoshi, as Shinya would eventually learn, wasn’t a listener. He liked hearing himself talk, probably why no one could stand him. Shinya wondered if he’d ever shut up, and it turns out he doesn’t. Every day, Shinya would break into Yoshi’s house and spend 30 minutes to an hour listening to him rant before moving on with his day. He was shocked at how knowledgeable this shut-in was; with each trip, Shinya learned more about the world he missed from Professor Yoshi. The two weren’t normal friends; they would never greet each other in public, call, or meet outside their daily ritual. Yet each day, without fail, Shinya would sit behind Yoshi, listening to whatever he wanted to say.