Mitsuko came with her Louis Vuitton bag into their makeshift home. She gave Alex a kiss on the cheek, as young girls with over-grown and under-exercised libido are sometimes wont to. Alex wasn’t her real name but it was what she asked everyone in the neighborhood to do and nobody could find a good reason to say otherwise.
The search for new fashions can lead to a treacherous road. Sure, it was fun to lead the salarymen on in their desperate, ever-futile pursuit of someone who would give them back the youth they lost to years of cram school and drudgery at whatever outworn spinny chair they sat in at work, but once that gets old, there are choices to be made. Choices between a roof over your head or cutting-edge, name-brand fashion.
Yet, as far as cardboard boxes go, it could have been worse. A worn picture of Arashi was primly taped to the wall and they had enough vinyl umbrellas to keep their make-up – not to mention their 20,000 yen Chanel dresses – dry in the guerilla rains that came in during the spring months. Life wasn’t easy, but at least they could look fabulous.
Mitsuko and Alex held hands as the old guy passed them by. To say why they held hands would be difficult to pinpoint. Largely it was just habit. They had only met a few weeks ago but, with all the guys who would approach them being either lame or AV scouts (you accept one time for some quick cash and suddenly they all think you’ll go with anybody!), it was almost only to be expected that they would be easier say “I’m a lesbian, can’t you see?” and end the conversation quickly.
In any case, the old guy walked by every day. He never said a word but always leered into their tiny abode. After he left, it was the same time-killing conversation between the two:
“God, what a weirdo.”
“I know, why doesn’t he just say something already and get it over with? So annoying…”
“We should totally tell him something next time? Like ‘Hey! 35,000 for both of us all night, wanna go?!”"
“Oh seriously? Then he’d be like ‘Really?’”
“Yeah yeah! Then he just like takes out his wallet and we just brush him off. “Ha! You thought we were being serious!? Get real!”
So the days went. The old guy would pass by; they would alternately cower before him and mock behind his back; and they did their best to get along in the colony of those who have become obedient to the forces of the Cosmo.
Obsession can be a bitch. Sometimes it makes you into one. Sometimes both.