The letting loose of all the little boats into places where you might never see them again.

“LISTEN UP! EVERYBODY STOP! STOP! STOP! LISTEN UP! ALRIGHT! WE’VE GOT A CHOICE! WE CAN BUY MORE BEER AT THE SEVEN ELEVEN FOR 100 YEN EACH OR BUY AT KARAOKE FOR 400 EACH!” Tuomas was screaming wisdom out as though a corkscrew were being twisted into his gut; those sounds coming out shaped as English words were duly worthy of being one’s last sequence of human utterances; a flawless demonstration of the profoundness and ferocious capability that the human voice can muster when necessary, when a house is burning up in giant monster-shaped flames from the floor leaping up into themselves, motherless, leaping up over and over again; when you want to save someone you love so much, and your body begins to die, it's the same howl shaking your chest. No matter of age, each human of eight and of eighty will howl the same to get that which cannot be physically taken or given like the exchanging goods except by way of convincing another human to do as you say for a great cause, you must think it in order to bellow that special gift hidden in the very deepest documents of the human voice. It would be named ‘primal.’ That word cannot be used. It mends intangible objects; unravels entire inner metaphysical intricacies like sheet music. It's the same thing Tuomas used stopping us in the street that night. It unfolds stories.

“THEN WE’LL SMUGGLE THEM IN-“

“Hey! Quit yelling so loud! Someone will hear!”

“WHA- NO ONE UNDERSTANDS A FUCKING WORD OF ENGLISH HERE! IT’S OK! OK, SO TO THE KARAOKE PLACE WE’LL SMUGGLE IN THE BEER WE BUY RIGHT HERE INSTEAD OF PAYING 400 FOR EACH INSIDE!”

Everyone had stopped to listen, but only two or three guys darted into the Family Mart afterward to buy more beer to smuggle into the karaoke place. The rest had just stopped to continue the small conversations they had been having before when they were walking, before the stopping. Each person stood in the illumination of the Family Mart, some with umbrellas, some giggling quietly to themselves at something funny, some just standing about doing nothing, and others, like that one tired-looking guy, asked us, “Are you guys working your game tonight?” in a tone I took to be honest. Sveinn and I had drunk at the nomikai like every other person standing there (eat-as-much-as-you-can and drink-as-much-as-you-can for 2600 yen, two hours afterward, be ushered out by impatient employees wearing red leather hats). Sveinn and I looked at him, thinking of what to say.

“What the fuck are you talking about!?” Sveinn said (and then I erupt giggling again, at everything about this moment: the question, Sveinn's answer, this Nomikai aftermath situation, the Family Mart employee behind the counter watching us in horror, the drunkenness of my friends and this weird guy, this weird guy who says to me, 'Rachel, right?' (who is standing a few meters down the street to my right, facing her Chocolate-Boy with the apartment where such things as alcohol drinking, movies and sex can happen, such things as make Japan a pleasant place again, finally.) and me giggling with that 'too wide' smile, so much so wide and unclosable that i believe in it.)

Looking nowhere in particular, the weird guy goes, “Are you guys trying to get laid?”

“Oh, well, my wife is inside the seven eleven in the bathroom…”

The rain was struggling to fall, yet the road had become full black and wet. We stood in a pool reflecting the blue/green lights of the Family Mart sign above us.