OVERSEEN IN TOKYO
On the rooftop patio, a lady in a hot blue dress stands at the bar. There she is directing a boy bartender; his face attentive to her specific demands. The blue lady looks off into the distance, a tight blonde lock of curl hovering over her eyes. She needs two drinks, one for herself and another for Kristen, her ever-present yet invisible drinking buddy. After the attendant boy empties the remains of a bottle of champagne into two prissy girly drinks, she saunters off to the high-rise views of the Tokyo elite. She sips her fizzy boozy friend thinking about the stronger drink in her armoire. Alas, that is for a bit later. First, let’s get through this nest of Tokyo Expat Moms.
While Blue drinks in her maternal angst, Mrs. America shows up. Her tall athletic frame is wrapped snugly in a floral skirt, exposing ripped musculature through slits on the sides. Her keto diet bans any form of light indulgence. Her bubbly-virgin soda water topped off with a lime plays the part of a costume. She slides back into conversations about schools, tutors, and everyday complaints.
CJ steps away from the bar. He needs a few moments to breathe in clean air and release the toxicity seeping out of these women. He climbs up the stairs to roof access above the building. He takes a seat on the warm concrete under the bright night lights of the big city. Azabajuban. AH! ZA- BA JEW BA N.
A strange name for such a posh place…
CJ works at a number of the ritzy bars in the area. He amuses himself watching the fancy women constantly in need of a drink. Mainly they are clothed in entitlements and freeing their imagination with a night on the town. These beautiful, cursed china dolls. CJ knew getting too close to any of them was a bit like losing your footing on the rungs of a rickety ladder.
Putting their temptations away, CJ opens up his LeSac for a rich, short 20 minutes break from the bar. Inside, a pack of loose tobacco strands, rolling paper, and a special gift from Tim. Pulling together a magical pixie stick, he leans back and extends his legs into the air, and brings a respite to his lips. He tilts his head in, shielding his smoke from the breeze, and lights her up with a steady flame.
The smell of butane, burning papers, and a few threads of tobacco release all the pent-up concerns into the air. A stillness falls over the rooftop. There are cicadas singing in the night. A warm breeze carries muted conversations upward into the sky. CJ is content with the knowledge that everything will be just fine.
