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Turning another corner, I saw Ghost Park across the road and set course. The two teens from Saizeriya were there, drinking mega cans of Asahi, smoking with poor technique, their arms hanging off the swing chains like monkeys.

      I strolled over and sat down on the adjacent set of swings. One of the chains was hanging down lower than the other, but that was normal. As was the graffiti scrawled on the padded ground claiming, NO KIDS ALLOWED. Ha, it was true, the only kids who came here were the ones too young to patch in to Kanto Land…or those slippers-outdoors types, struck with luddite parents pining for the old days.

      Pushing off the ground, I let myself swing lopsided, eyes switching back to the two clowns.

      The taller kid, the sugar tin-throwing perv, had finished his can and was now crushing it awkwardly with his right hand. Mumbling something, the other kid swatted it onto the ground, gave a quick stamp, then kicked the remains at the slide opposite.

      ‘Way off,’ the taller one yelled back.

      ‘You didn’t fucking crush it right, kasu.’

      I pulled up the sleeve of my shirt and stared at them. Neither one of them had the balls to stare back.

      Fucking kids, always loud, always cans.

      They talked some more. About Ikebukuro and the things they were doing there. Or the things other people they kinda knew were doing there.

      Liars. Story-tellers. You wanna know about Ikebukuro, take a seat…take a swing, I’ll tell you.

      But what was the point?

      Fucking kids.

      Fucking Tsunashima.

      I turned away and pushed off from the ground, going back to Alien. That scene, Yaphet Kotto and the alien.

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