There was a hint of amber in the air, and the sounds of soda
cans. I was sitting on the ground. The country
was actually just a complex, a network of rooms. I was sitting and watching
everyone go to the bathroom, which was behind me. A small hut with a bamboo floor and frosted
glass walls.
One boy was
moving in high definition slow motion. His hair looked like a rooster’s, but
black. He had thick blue eyeliner on his lower eyelids. There were some solid
chunks of the eyeliner resting on his cheekbones, crumbles from an aggressive
application? The foundation he chose acted more as a bronzer, it was about two
shades darker than his dolce complexion. His leather jacket got lost amongst various
accessories. He was carrying so much, and staring right at me! Beach toys in
netted bags, chain wallets, fabric swatches, heavy dog jewelry. He was so
certain about the bathroom. I watched him enter through the frosted glass doors;
he looked complicated compared to the hut. It was like he was carrying all his
sadness in accessories, and I knew it vividly. He acted exposed after realizing
that I knew. Even the pores on his cheeks were lonely and clear, accentuated by
makeup.
Everyone
inside was just peeing on the bamboo floor! There were no toilets. Just a big
room. The crowd was just peeing on the floor. All the pee poured out through
the space between the wall and the floor. Like an outdoor shower, where you can
see feet and water.
A girl I
don’t know is borrowing my mom’s Ralph Lauren tote bag. It is made of course
mesh and you can see everything inside. The corners are very sharp and have cut
my legs in the past. This type of mesh is also quite stain resistant. I feel
like this girl has put too much stuff in the bag and it’s making me anxious.
She has very brown hair and no face so I can’t find her anywhere, but I need
the bag.
I walk far
in every direction, and it turns out that I am always missing something. I am
always late. I stumble upon a small, isolated room built in a different style
than the bathroom. The glass is not
frosted but rather, greasy. It is reminiscent of a waiting room; backless
benches line three of the walls.
Everyone is sitting in groups of two or three. I feel for my phantom
tote and an icon appears in the lower right-hand corner of my vision. I can’t
read it, but it looks like a logo for a children’s charity. The groups are all
mourning people that I know, but I am not allowed to mourn.
I want to
drive home but I am in Japan. No one else can come with me because they have no
faces and they are all very distracted. The icon (bottom right) becomes more
distorted and I sense that my bag has gotten farther away from me, I have
gotten colder.
