He kept on talking: So, as far as money goes, I’ve got only like ¥2,000 yen on me. I know, sorry about that. But if we go to an ATM, I should have maybe ¥30,000 or ¥40,000 in the bank. My job pays once a month, so it’s a low period for me now… It was at this point that the two of them decided to call it. The day after tomorrow we’ll leave here and go back to our own places and by then the war’ll probably be over. When he said this, her response was, it’ll be like going home not knowing if Japan won their World Cup match today and then putting on the news to find out, you know, that kind of nervous feeling.
Neither one of them was certain who was the first to suggest they end it on the fifth day. Maybe he said to her: I mean I can’t imagine you could’ve been thinking you wanted to stay here like this with me forever anyway, right? And you can say it. I mean I feel the same way, so we might as well both say it. She said, okay, and he said, okay. They both had a feeling of release, like a fake tear duct that suddenly came unblocked. When they both said okay, by chance their voices overlapped perfectly, seamlessly, in a way that felt almost like another miracle. Their voices had matched so perfectly that they couldn’t even crack a joke about it. Instead they both tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. Then he started talking again, and like, this thing between us, it’s probably not going to turn into like a lifelong connection, is it? But, and this is just what I think, but it’s not that a lifelong connection is somehow more special, or that we didn’t make a lifelong connection because this wasn’t special, or because we couldn’t make that kind of connection, it’s not like that at all. You get what I’m saying, right? She said she got it. And, he went on, I think that’s like luck, I mean I think that spending time, days, like this with someone who understands that, that’s incredible. Not everybody would understand that. I think it’s super-incredible. But you could see someone saying, what’s so incredible about it? All you two did was fuck the whole time.
They needed to check what time it was. First, they had sex. It felt different from before because time was back in the picture. He pulled the phone out of his bag, which had been tossed in the corner of the room. Their moment that seemed to go on forever was coming to an end. The LCD screen showed three in the afternoon. They had guessed it was night, and only a few hours left before morning. He turned the phone off. Since they had more time than expected, they had sex some more, casually. She was worrying about the pain in his groin, but he said he was fine, so she made up her mind not to worry about it. They spent the time until the morning having sex, and resting, and every so often he reached for his phone to check the time. This was repeated through the hours, and they couldn’t quite tell if it felt like the hours were moving quickly or slowly. The passing of time seemed slow, but if they took their eyes off it for an instant it seemed to skip ahead. Before long the digital numbers told them it was morning. Just a bit past eight. They lay on their backs, and he held his phone at arm’s length, raised it towards the ceiling, while they brought their faces close to watch the seconds flash on the screen, to watch minutes go by. It was time to leave. They put their clothes on and gathered their things together. That didn’t take any time at all. He dialled the NTT information number for date and time, brought the phone up to his ear and listened. Of course what was announced was the exact same as the display on his phone. But just seeing it on his screen, he didn’t quite believe it.
When they stepped out of the room, a feeling washed over them of something coming to an end, a stronger feeling than it had been before. She paid for their stay at the desk and they went out into the day. The light stabbed at their eyes, giving them a headache like a hangover. They walked. The ATM on the way opened at 8:45, so they had timed their departure accordingly. What bank do you use? she asked. He answered, Hokuriku. She didn’t know they had a branch in Shibuya. But they did, in the same building as the Lotteria. She waited on the sidewalk while he withdrew the cash. When he came out, he handed her ¥20,000. What’s with this 20,000? Your share is more than that, she said. But that was almost all he had in his account, and he let her see the receipt that showed the ¥20,000 withdrawal and an account balance that was only in two figures. They walked to Shibuya Station. One was headed to the Toyoko Line, the other to the Yamanote Line. Bye was all they said, and they parted ways. But after he left, she lingered, didn’t go to her train. She knew that if she got on her train and rode away from Shibuya, then she would lose this Shibuya that felt like a foreign country and her non-everyday mode would disappear and probably never come back. She wanted to keep the feeling just a bit more, so she decided to stay. But only a little while longer. She walked back the way they had just come, towards Love Hotel Hill, as if she had left something behind and was going to collect it. She worried that having already gone to the station the special feeling would have vanished, but it was still there. She turned the corner past the Bunkamura, nearly scraping the building with her shoulder, and came to the foot of the hill where their hotel was. The sloping street caught the morning light and glistened like frost. The air smelt like last night’s garbage. Utility poles rose up from the sidewalk. One pole near her had a plastic trash can attached to it, and next to it was a large dog. The dog was stooped forwards snuffling, rooting around in the garbage spilling out of the trash can. But when she looked again, she saw that it wasn’t a dog at all. What she’d thought was a dog’s head was actually a human ass, the bare ass of a human being. It was a homeless person taking a shit. She felt the sudden urge to vomit, her throat constricting audibly. The homeless person turned towards her, still squatting. It wasn’t a sharp look, more like the mild attitude someone might have listening to the wind blow. Shocked, she turned away, trying not to be too obvious, making like she too was listening to the wind, but she had in fact jerked away violently. She started walking along the side of Bunkamura, following the breeze that was blowing. After a few steps she started to run. She knew there was a toilet in Bunkamura, but the building was closed. She didn’t know of any other public toilet around and the shops hadn’t opened yet. There was nothing she could do. Her vomit erupted out of her and splattered onto the street. It wasn’t the sight of someone shitting on the sidewalk that made her vomit, it was revulsion at herself for not knowing a human being from an animal. She realized this as the vomit was coming out of her, and even after it stopped. She stood in place until she calmed down, then walked away from the puddle of her filth, pretending it had nothing to do with her. Some of the vomit had gotten on her clothes. She went back to the station and this time went through the wicket. While she wiped off her clothing with toilet paper in the station restroom, her special Shibuya vanished, replaced by the same old Shibuya as always.