Poetry & Short Stories
I explore emotions, experiences and design futures through short stories and poetry.
Looking Stone
Standing at the beach, staring at the waves, Kano's mind slowly drifted to his usual existential thoughts. It was that time of the morning when the warm orange glow of the sun slowly took over from the streetlights. At the moment they were fighting each other for attention, but in a few minutes, it would be clear who was winning. The city was still quiet. Motionless. The only sounds were the rumbling of the waves. As he walked into the water, he felt the cold slowly rise from his feet up through his legs until it enveloped his body as he began to paddle out from the shore.
As the first rays of the sun hit his face, he felt both warm and cold. Perhaps it was this dichotomy that made him think about life. In front of him was the vast expanse of the sea, vast and empty. One could float around for months before seeing any signs of humanity. Behind him was the city. Tall. Dense. Loud. Fast. And this was just a suburb. Just a fraction of the chaos of the city center.
Chaos was one way to describe it. Everything was constantly moving. Constantly shifting. Changing. And you were expected to keep up. Everyone was. Why else would you live in a city? The sea on the other hand seemed calm. Tranquil. Almost boringly predictable. Even the waves, the tides, the storms, with all their force and fury, were rhythmic. Simple in their directions. Their desires. Did storms have desires?
The only constants in the city, the only cycles seemed to be dictated by nature. Seasons. Day and night. Right now the city was in a kind of suspended animation, brought on due to the inevitability of night. Though even then, there were millions of different actions and interactions taking place inside it. And in about an hour, as the sun rose, the chaos would rise to its full volume, and continue for many hours after it had set.
He had paddled quite some distance from the shore. The waves would rise up menacingly, some ten feet in the air, and maybe a kilometer across. But then it would slowly curl over, and crash back down to earth. He could choose to either duck down into the water, and let the wave pass over him, or try to surf it. Move out of its path, or let it move him.
As he held his breath and dove into the water, he could hear his heartbeat. It was rhythmic, periodic, just like the waves. He thought about the people he had left behind back in the city. The chaos and unpredictability of their lives. Everyone out there fighting for their place, but all just being dragged along by a wave that they couldn't control.
Everyone feels like they can make a difference. Like they can stand out, or command power or control fortunes. But for most, actions beyond their control quickly and decisively change their direction. Everyone is just being pushed along by waves they can't see, or can’t understand. Why go through the farce, why go through the struggle of it all, if everything that matters is beyond their control?
As he hopped on his board and changed direction to ride the wave, these thoughts slowly escaped his mind. As he slipped off his board and fell into the water, no trace remained. He was just focused on surfing. As periodic as day and night, existentialism washed into and out of Kano's mind every morning. This is why he did it anyway, to clear his mind of any nagging thoughts that would otherwise drag him down.
As he walked up to shore, the drone of the city grew more apparent. He pulled his board out of the water and began walking across the sand. It must have been a school holiday, as a number of kids were playing on the beach. They were mostly from his neighborhood, near the beach, and didn't pay much attention to him. He was here everyday after all, and had been for years, ever since he moved down from the city.
But one boy, noticed and ran up to him. "Mr. Kano! Mr. Kano, look what I found!" He shouted as he clumsily tried to run across the soft sand. As he held his hand open, he showed Kano a hard, tube like piece of rock. It looked rough on the outside, but had a glassy appearance on the inside.
"I thought I saw something like this hanging in your shop!".
"Yes, you're right Seijun. This is fulgurite. It is made when lighting strikes the sand on the beach. This is a good find. Why don't you bring it by the shop sometime? I'll clean it up and polish it for you".
"Sure. Thank you Mr. Kano". He then carefully pocketed the piece and ran back to his friends. Kano continued up the beach, and then down the street to the little two story building that served as his shop and his house.
Later that evening, Kano was busy making himself a cup of tea, when he heard the bell above the shop door ring. It wasn't a particularly regular occurrence, but he still knew what that sound meant. He came around the the front to see Seijun, the young boy from down the road, standing inside, looking around. When he saw Kano, he walked up to the counter, holding out the little piece he had found at the beach that morning. He had brought it to get polished, as promised earlier.
Kano lifted up the corner panel of the counter, and invited him back to the workshop, which lay at the back of the building, across a small courtyard. He slid open the door to the workshop and quickly got to work, grabbing a fresh polishing disc from a rack, and installing it in a dusty old machine.
Seijun's eyes lit up as he walked around the workshop, looking at all the equipment, and the half finished bits of glass that lay around. Kano had tried to keep it relatively tidy, but it was still a workshop, and functionality often trumped aesthetics.
"I didn't know you had all this equipment here. I thought you just sold glass objects you bought from somewhere else"
Seijun must have been around eight or nine, and lived in one of the old houses down the road. All the houses on the street were relatively old, including this one. Most doubled as shops or restaurants. Though they were slowly being torn down and replaced by new developments. Big apartments and malls and franchised restaurants and coffee shops. It was valuable beachfront property, but the older generation were still hesitant to sell. Most had lived their whole lives here. It made Kano think of the waves and the inevitability of the unseen, unknown, chaos.
"Yeah. Everything I sell is made here, in this workshop. That equipment over there is for glass blowing, making marbles and lamps and vases. And these machines here are for grinding and polishing."
"Oh wow!", said the boy, picking up and and staring through the various glass objects on the shelves. Most adults would have reprimanded him at this point, or at least warned him to be careful, but Kano let him remain curious. There wasn't too much around that couldn't be re-made.
"And what is all this?" He asked, peering at a rack of old equipment through a piece of crystal.
"That stuff is for making lenses. You see, a long time ago, people would come to a lens grinder to get their spectacles made. It would have to be careful carved by hand from an absolutely clear piece of glass. It would then have to be tested for accuracy."
"Though today it's all done by machines, and these tools just gather dust"
"Take a look at this. These are what far-sighted people used before spectacles were invented". Kano said, as he set down the half-polished fulgurite, and pulled out an old box with small round lenses.
"Hold them at the right distance from a page, and they make things appear sharp. Here, try it" he said, pulling a sheet of blurry text from the same box.
"It's the same with these magnifying lenses. Look through them and everything looks blurry and out of focus. But hold them at just the right distance, and suddenly everything is large and sharp and clear."
Seijun continued to play with the lenses as Kano finished polishing the glass on different wheels. By the end, the rough brown surface looked like a piece of fractured crystal.
"Here, try this" he said as he pulled a metal frame from the shelf, and set a magnifying glass into it. "It'll tell you exactly how far from the page you need to be. You can keep it the lens”.
"And here is your fulgurite."
"Wow! Thanks Mr Kano. You know, you actually have some cool things. It's a shame that more people don't come in here." He said, as they walked back out through the shop. "I'll tell more people about this place. And thanks for everything!"
Kano almost felt like stopping him, but then realized that an 8 year old's word of mouth probably wouldn't generate a whole lot of business for him.
He often wondered what he was doing here. But then there wasn't really any where else he could be either. Or wanted to be.
All his life, he had just wondered around, aimlessly. He had let himself be tossed around by the waves of uncertainty. There was nothing he was particularly motivated to do. No cause that he vehemently cared about. He just sort of did what was required at the time.
This house had belonged to his grandmother's brother. He was in many ways the opposite of Kano; a man who was passionate about science and art and craft. He would make all kinds of things, not just from glass, but from all kinds of different materials. He would maintain meticulous journals of his works, his experiments, even his thoughts. He traveled the world imbibing as much as he could, before building this little place and settling here. He never married and the family would quickly change the subject whenever Kano brought up his personal life.
Kano spent many summers here, learning about the different tools and machines, when he wasn't lying on the beach or surfing the waves. Those few moments seemed to stand out, while the rest of his life just sort of went by.
There was a different energy in those days, thanks in no small part to the old man. The shop always seemed to bustle with activity. The neighbors constantly coming in and out, with the latest goings-on of the local community. There were millions more in this area now, as the city grew and enveloped it, but at the same time, everyone seemed more distant, more disconnected from everything and everyone.
When the old man passed away, he left the shop and house to Kano, who was more than pleased to move out here. It had been a few years since he left university, but he had never really landed anywhere. He just seemed to move between random jobs, nothing really sparking his passion. Moving here gave him something of an excuse to try and escape the city, and also a reason to stick with something. It also helped that it was right on the beach.
Within a few days of moving here, he realized that the energy and magic he remembered from those summers years ago, was long gone. He was trying to recreate something that couldn't possibly exist in this time or this place. Still, he kept it open and running. He supplemented his income with odd jobs, helping out friends in the city. The rest of the time, he was fairly content here, isolated from the chaos.
The next morning at the same time he was returning from the beach, the mail man making his rounds.
"Ah Mr Kano, I have something for you", he said as he handed him an envelope.
It had a hand written address on it, and seemed to have come from a different time and place. It didn't look like the usual bills or packages that got delivered to his house. Most of his friends called or messaged him directly, so it couldn’t have been from one of them, Even his parents had switched over to email once they realized that it was essentially free.
After he had a shower and breakfast, he sat down at his kitchen island, looking closely at the envelope. There was no return address on the front, or any indication of who sent it. He grabbed a knife and carefully sliced it open. It didn't seem like the kind of envelope one would just tear apart.
Inside was a single page that was written in the same beautiful calligraphy as on the envelope.
"Mr Kano,
I hope this letter finds you in good health, and reaches you in a timely manner.
I am writing to inform you that my daughter, Iwaku, is pregnant. She has told me that you are most likely the father. I have little evidence to prove this, but also little reason to believe otherwise.
She didn't want to contact you, and wants to raise the child on her own, and does not know about this letter. But I thought it was important to inform you. The only contact information I was able to find was this address from the city records.
I am not asking for any money, or seeking any legal action at the moment, but I hope that you understand the implications and will do the right thing"
It was signed by Iwaku's father, and the address below was of the prestigious law firm he ran in the city.
Kano read it again, pausing on each word. It wasn't threatening, until it was. It wasn't legalese, except for the parts that were.
After a third read, he put it down. He poured himself a drink, even though it was only ten in the morning. It just seemed like what people would do when they received a letter like this. At least in the movies. He didn't know of anyone who had actually received one. And he never expected that he would either.
He thought back to everything that had led to this point. He had met Iwaku right after University. He did administrative work in different offices to make money. He would sort records, enter data, courier documents, and generally manage the running of an office. Until management realized it would be cheaper to get the employees to do it themselves, at which point he would move on to another office.
Iwaku worked at one such office. They soon started dating, though in many ways, they seemed to be from different worlds. His family was middle class, her father ran one of the biggest law firms around. She was career oriented, he didn't know what he wanted to do in life. She was passionate, expressive. He was more reserved and pensive. But there seemed to be a connection there. There seemed to be some part missing from both of them, that made them not quite fit in with everyone else. They both wanted to push back against the chaos, but in their own ways.
They dated for a few years. All their friends assumed they would get eventually get married and start a family. They had their share of problems, but always just ended up with each other. Things came to a head when Kano decided to move to the suburbs. He asked her to move there with him, but she wanted him to sell the place, and stay in the city. She had her career to think about. She wanted to make a name for herself, to prove that she was taking over her father’s firm on her own merit, and not because they were family. They couldn't come to an agreement, and so it ended, and they went their separate ways. Kano to the suburbs, and Iwaku on with her career.
A few months ago, Kano had gone to the city for work. He stayed out too late, drinking with friends, and missed the last train. Instead of paying for an expensive taxi though, he decided to hang around the city for a few hours, until the morning trains began. He wandered into an old bar that he used to frequent. It was a cozy little place, that attracted a select audience. And the moment he entered, he noticed the only other person who knew about this place, Iwaku.
They caught up, and drank, and pretty soon they were back in her apartment. It was a one night thing. Just two lonely people searching for meaning in the chaos. They knew fully well that in the morning, they would both go back to their separate lives.
He could understand why she didn't want to involve him in all this. Or why her father did. He was of a different generation, and had different ideas of what was the right thing to do. But now Kano had to decide what he wanted to do. It felt like the decision had already been made for him. His choice was to go along with it or to fight it.
The next morning was different. Though the same thoughts crept into his mind as he stood on the beach, they were fighting for room with thoughts about the letter. The thoughts didn't go away today, they stayed with him, even when he was in the water. They took over everything as he was pushed down into the water by the waves. Everything seemed to slow down, as he felt like he was falling endlessly through the water.
He had tried to run from the chaos. Tried to escape it. But somehow it had found him. And that was always going to be the case No matter how hard he would try, there would always be something working behind the scenes, helping, or hurting his cause. And at the end of the day, the rock could always roll back down the hill.
He wondered what would happen if he just surrendered. To the waves. To the chaos. It wouldn't have made any difference to any outcome. At least he wouldn't have wasted any effort in trying.
But what could he do at the moment? He knew things would only get harder from here. There would be more such incidents, more such letters in his life. It would always find a way to him. Like how the city was slowly making its way to his house.
He realized that moving here, he was just trying to capture a time and a place that had long gone. An emotion that he could no longer go back to. And it was the same with that night. They were both trying to capture a time that they couldn't go back to, without realizing the consequences it would have on their future.
The waves eventually relented, and he surfaced. It might have only been for a few minutes, but he felt like he was falling for an eternity. Not even through the water, but through the sky.
Seijun was waiting on his doorstep as he returned from the sea. He seemed sad, the opposite of the curious excited boy from a few days ago. As Kano sat down next to him, he began to frantically explain how some other boys saw the magnifying glass, and wanted to play with it. But when he wouldn't give it to them, they pushed him aside, and grabbed it. In the tussle, the lens fell out and the whole thing broke.
He then opened his hand to show the pieces.
"I don't have any money Mr Kano, but I will save up and pay you for it".
"You don't have to do that. It was a gift’, Kano said, adding, "But you must realize that often in life, beautiful things can be quite fragile. It is almost as if they are destined to break. That fragility adds to its beauty. And other people will always be jealous of them. I can give you another one, but it won't be exactly the same. The only thing we can do is to enjoy things while they last".
As the boy learned that he wouldn't have to return it, or pay for it, his mood slowly began to lift.
"Thank you Mr. Kano", he said as he slowly walked away.
Later that morning, Kano heard a loud crash outside his house. The shatter of glass and the crunch of metal. Soon, the usual noise of the crowd took over. Kano too, emerged from the front of the shop to take a look at what had happened.
A body lay on top of a parked car, having mostly crumpled its roof. The face of the person could not be seen. Just the arms dangling down over the side of the car. It was a bizarre scene, as the body didn't seem to have come from anywhere. There were no tall buildings nearby, and no other vehicles were involved.
As he got closer, one of his neighbors began to narrate the incident to him.
"It was the strangest thing! This body just fell from nowhere! Luckily it didn't land on anyone. But it literally seemed to have come from the sky. The body has no face as far as we can tell. And he seems to be wearing a wetsuit. At least it looks like a man. How did this happen? Did he jump out of a plane?"
Everyone around seemed as confused and tried to examine the body before the police could arrive. As Kano got closer though, he saw the arm and felt a chill. It looked incredibly familiar. The hands seemed to have the same calluses from working the grinding wheel. It even had the same birthmark on his forearm. He slowly pulled down his sleeve to cover it, as he didn't want anyone else to notice.
In this crowd of confusion, he was the only one who had some kind of clarity. He was at the right distance from the page to see things clearly. The chaos had found him and would keep finding him no matter what he tried. But as long as he pushed the rock up the hill, he would be in control.
As he moved back towards his shop, distancing himself from the crowd, he knew exactly what he had to do.
Like Regular Chickens
Joanna clinched her raincoat tight and pulled on the hood as she stepped out of the taxi. She took a few steps away and watched as it rose up and away in a cloud of grey smoke, onto its next trip. She wondered when they would finally enforce regulations and retire these old, polluting hovertaxis. A steady drizzle rained down, splashing off the dark navy PVC coat that enveloped her. She then thought about the last time she saw a clear sky. More than a decade she figured.
She turned and made her way towards the wet market. It was no more a wet market, but like the rest of the city had grown at an immense pace and now occupied the better part of this quadrant. A wild mess of shops and stalls and restaurants and hawkers and maybe even a little market or two. A hoarder's dream. A window shopper's nightmare. But she knew this place well, and she knew exactly what she wanted. She took a deep breath and dove into the madness.
On the outer margins was pretty tame fare. Clothes, mostly of the knock off or "surplus variety". Data discs; the cheap pirated kind that was probably missing a few bytes here and there. Grey market electronics, with spelling errors galore on their packaging. "Casual Shopping" as it was known, though this was a far cry from the casual shopping high street boutiques on the other side of town. She often picked up her tops or a pair of knock off boots from here. After all, these guys were better at predicting the latest fashion trends than the boutiques on the mainland. And she would rather support an independent business than a big fast fashion conglomerate. You couldn't call yourself an "Artist" and buy mainstream. Image was important, especially for her. Ironically, for someone who wanted to remain anonymous.
She dropped her head down and continued towards the waterfront that formed the core of the wet market. The less interaction she had with anyone, the better. Her business here would be considered illegal at best, but would be essential for her new "art project". When that was released, all questions on legality would be put to rest. The "art" would be too important in the long run.
Cheap clothes soon gave way to a sprawling, bustling fresh food market. The largest in the world it was claimed. And judging by her travels, it probably was. Every kind of food, every kind of cuisine was represented here. One could arguably travel the world without ever leaving the confines of the market. The colors looked amazing. Bright greens, reds and yellows, lit by bright white florescent lamps. Stalls selling freshly made street food from every corner of the world. The smells, the sounds just added to the excitement. She crossed Europe, Africa, South America, the Middle East, India, and finally, the largest section of all, and more importantly the local fare, East Asia. Vegetables and street food eventually made way for utensils and equipment.
She was briefly distracted in her quest by a small commotion. She heard a bunch of pots and pans rattle in the "Kitchen Outfitters" section of the wet market. As she turned to look, a small insect fluttered past. It looked like a little moth, small enough to fit in her hand, as it flew quickly and erratically past her. But there was something odd about it. She might have been mistaken, but its wings seemed to have a distinct metallic sheen, more like a silicon chip than the frail carbon wings of a real moth.
The moth itself was quickly followed by the source of the commotion: two men frantically chasing after it. One was a large, fairly overweight man, in a two-sizes-too-small shirt and suspenders combo that went out of style a century ago. He was followed by a small thin man, in greasy leather overalls, and welder's goggles. The large man screamed "Catch that moth!", as he barreled down the narrow path of the Wet Market. Jo turned, but the moth was too far away, and instead ducked into one of the stores, to make way for the comedic duo.
She hadn't intended on doing any window shopping, but she looked around the store, as she heard the rattle and hum of the two men cross her and slowly fade away into the distance. This store specialized in knives. The expensive, handforged, Japanese kind. Chefs fetishized these tools, paying close attention to the grain of the steel, the weight and balance of the blade, and the sharpness and polish on the edge. Looking at them up close, she could see why. They were quite beautiful. A subtle balance of delicate and strong, artistic and utilitarian, science and craft. As she looked around, a young Japanese man walked out from the shop's little back room. His eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn't seen the light in days. Which was odd, considering his shop was one of the best lit that Jo had seen in the wet market. He gave her a little nod, grabbed a large knife off the display rack, and sat down, polishing it with a rag he produced from his jacket pocket.
As Jo continued to stare in awe at the knives, she pulled out her old Swiss pocket knife, and couldn't help but compare. She thought about her next "art project", the very reason she was in the wet market. The sad state of her old switchblade, the importance of the new "project", and the sheer utilitarian beauty of these knives prompted her to buy one on impulse. Impulse buying was something she rarely did, and always regretted. But there was something about these knives that drew her to them.
As she was looking around, the young man's communicator began to ring. A phrase from the movie "Eraserhead":
"So I just cut them up like regular chickens?"
"Like regular chickens", it announced, before he picked up, walked into the alley at the front of his shop and began shouting loudly in what sounded like Arabic. It was a strange choice for a ringtone, but she imagined it was just because he was really into knives.
She picked up a small Kiridashi. It was a single piece of metal, one end shaped into a comfortable form, the other sharpened into a fearsome blade. She ran the edge along her finger. It was sharp enough to draw blood.
The shopkeeper came back from his call to see this.
"Ah the Kiridashi. That's a great all round knife. My personal favorite" he said.
"I can give you a good deal. I'll throw in the sheath for free. How does that sound? Should I parcel it?".
She hesitated for a moment, before handing it to him. From behind his little table, he produced a tray of small, painted leather sheaths, slightly larger than the diminutive knife itself. She chose one which included an image of koi and cherry blossoms, to remind her of her adopted home.
She fished around her pockets for a bit, and produced a number of small data drives. Picking one up, she entered the amount into its
small screen, before handing it over to the shopkeeper, who tapped it to his own drive to complete the transaction. She pocketed the sheathed knife and continued towards her original destination, dropping her old Swiss pocket knife in a bin on the way.
As she got closer to the docks, she came up to a security check point. A large number of illegal goods passed through the inner areas of the wet market, and these security checks were to ensure they stayed illegal. The entire market was built around this core trade, and anything that could damage the core, would damage the entire operation itself. The market was too narrow and cramped and vast for any kind of police raid. These checkpoints weeded out any spies or agents.
She stepped through the scanner, which was followed by a quick pat down by what was clearly a mutant, and a badly disguised one at that. He towered over her, but moved in an ungainly manner, as if he was still getting used to his skin. His deformed face was mostly hidden by a breathing mask, but his eyes were clearly visible. She could see a certain sadness that was common to all mutants. She hoped she could do something to alleviate his suffering. She hoped her latest "project" would give them the opportunity to live a normal life.
He was gentle though, and she was glad he didn't notice the small knife. Or the fact that she was visibly nervous about it. As she had approached the checkpoint she started to regret her impulse buy, but once she had passed, her heartbeat returned to normal, and her mind back to the task at hand.
She continued through large sections selling all kinds of fish and seafood on ice. She was getting closer. Seafood was what she wanted. But not the kind anyone wanted to eat. No, she was looking for something incredibly rare, incredibly unique, and proportionately expensive. And she wanted one alive. As she neared, the seafood changed to the more alive and kicking kind. She stopped at a random stall, with a number of Alaskan crabs in the window. Each had it's own tank, and a flashing display on the front listing its weight and price. She picked one seemingly at random, avoiding the smallest and biggest ones. Again she pulled out a data drive, entered the price, which was lower than she had expected, and transferred the coin to the shopkeeper. In exchange, he handed her a plastic bag with a live king crab in it. That's just how things worked in the market.
She was almost at the water's edge. After circling a few small alleys, she came upon what she thought was the shop. She pulled out a torn piece of paper, and compared the address scrawled on it, to the coordinates on the heavy steel door. This was it. "Exotic Fishmongers" as the sign said.
She tapped on the door a few times. A camera rotated to face her. She looked up and pulled back her hood.
"It's Watterson" she said.
A voice emanated from behind the door :
"Based on our call, I was expecting someone a bit more manly"
"Well phones can be deceiving. Are you gonna let me in?" She asked, holding up a data drive for the camera to see.
The steel door popped open a bit, unsealing a vacuum. She opened it and walked into a place that felt alien, even this deep in the wet market.
Florescent purple lights reflected across steel surfaces. Glass tanks lined the walls of the small cell, filled with rare and exotic fish. The floor itself was made of glass panels, and the water was visible below. At the far end, a thin, pale, balding, middle-aged man sat, staring at a bay of monitors.
"Have you got it?" She asked, skipping any pleasantries.
"Show me the drive first".
She tossed the drive to the man, who seemed reluctant to get out of his large chair.
"You know it's rare. And illegal to own. I'm the only person who has caught one." He said, as he studied the contents of the drive.
"I'm not forcing you to do anything. Toss it back in the water if you care so much. I know exactly what you're trying to do. We agreed on a price and it stays the same. 5 million coins. All there on the drive, with some change for good measure."
"Where did you even get this much?"
"It doesn't matter" Jo said, hiding her face from his gaze. "What matters is that it's all there and it's all legit".
"Yeah, that's for sure".
"So show me what you've got", and you can keep the drive.
He swivelled in the chair and rolled over to another corner. He lifted a cloth to reveal a tank, with the most beautiful creature inside: a trancefish.
Its body lit up in various colors, mimicking the colors on the screen and in the room.
"Don't stare. It'll hypnotize you".
These creatures were almost mythical. They were about a foot long, and shaped like a squid or a cuttlefish. But where a cuttlefish was visually stunning, the trancefish could interface directly with the mind. Only a few had ever been seen, as looking at them would drive sailors to madness and suicide.
"It's beautiful" she said.
"It's actually quite ugly, but it can make you think whatever it wants you to think ".
Shaking her head and diverting her gaze, Jo looked down at the plastic bag in her hand. She looked inside to make sure the crab was still alive and well, and dropped it into the tank with the trancefish. It sunk to the bottom and wiggled around for a few seconds. The trancefish changed its color, forming an undulating pattern across its amorphous body. Within seconds the crab was under its control, trying to break the glass. When it couldn't, the crab attacked and killed itself. Jo was impressed.
"I'll take it" she said. The man reached below a counter, and pulled out an almost opaque rip-proof bag, and a small fishnet. He filled the bag with water, caught the fish and transferred it quickly, the deftness of his actions indicating he had done this multiple times before. He quickly sealed the bag, and handed it to Jo who wrapped it in the bag the poor crab had called home for the last fifteen minutes.
"Keep the change" Jo said, as he turned back to his screens, and pressed a button to open the front door.
"What do you plan on doing with it, if you don't mind me asking?" The fishmonger asked.
"Oh you'll hear about it soon enough" Jo replied, reaching into her jacket for the kiridashi.
Rocking Horse
The dead of summer.
A calm over the city,
As everyone is indoors,
Trying to escape the heat.
The squeak of old springs
A young boy sits down
On a spring rocking horse
In the playground outside his house
Galloping through the steppe
Fighting outlaws in the wild west
Leaping across canyons
Trotting across worlds unknown
The little horse can take him away,
Away from his bullies
Away from his problems
Away from his loneliness
All without moving an inch
Black Cat
The stroke of midnight.
A black cat purrs in the distance,
Its eyes piercing the darkness.
The tip of its tail, white.
The neon sign of the Jazz club
Flickers.
A taxi pulls up besides the streetlight, and drops off a couple.
"Keep the change" he tells the driver,
Who counts off the bills.
The back door bursts open into the alley.
Four musicians step out for a break.
The fifth is busy,
chatting up a girl inside.
A lighter clinks shut as they light up their cigarettes.
A young trumpeter asks his bandleader:
"Was that what you wanted, Alfred?"