“Money is really the absurdist’s idea of a joke.” Konisuke wrote in long strides on the front of a thick, unused, notepad. 

It had already been two weeks since he lost his job. The meager amount of cash in his account had dwindled steadily and, finally, reached its end. A good portion of the final check managed to cover his rent for that month, but he had no clue how he was going to get through the next. There was nothing in the fridge but an egg, an old green onion, and a half empty bottle of mayonnaise. At the very least the water came with the rent. 

Ryubara Konisuke was nearly destitute. If it all went under, and he had to vacate the premises, he would likely end up on the street, or else face ridicule by begging his family in Yamanashi for the funds to move back home. As his three years in the capital went on, public transport fare only ever went up and what little he had reserved for cheap food would not do.

Instead of actively pursuing work, Konisuke chose to dawdle and fritter his time away with his writing. It was a unique passion that only had relevance when he felt as though he were wronged, and so he would turn to the notepad in defense of himself. At times it had been anything from ideological zealotry to political obsession. Of course none of these opinions made their way to his lips, and only existed on impassioned scrawlings that faded into waste bins. As his wallet only had a bit under two thousand yen at that moment, his new hatred was of the system of capitalism that had delivered him into a state of emaciation. Which was not to say he was starving, as a ramen bowl at the small shop next door was only one hundred and eighty yen. In his eyes though, he may as well have been. 

As he finished writing what he thought was a witty comment, there was a knock at the front door. He stirred slightly, as he had no friends in Tokyo and the landlord should not have had to bother him for another two weeks. It must have been a salesman or a neighbor, though visits from either had rarely ever happened before. He peered through the peephole. It was not a villain, but it was someone he recognized. He opened the door to meet a woman wearing a tight pink cocktail dress covered by a brown trench coat which hung open. 

“Mie-chan?” He was half stunned to see the hostess on his doorstep in the middle of the afternoon. She looked up with large, wet, eyes and threw herself at him, embracing his chest dramatically. 

“Oh Ryu! You’ll protect me won’t you?” 

“Mie-chan? What is this? Are you working right now?” He gently pushed her away and led her to the table in the middle of his one room, six tatami, apartment. It was an old fashioned place and cheap. He felt immediately ashamed of himself because, three months before, he had lied that he lived in a nicer apartment complex. In that way he knew how she had found him, he wrote down his address on a card and gave it to her at the time. 

The year before, and ending one month previous just before he lost his job, Konisuke was a frequent customer of cabaret clubs. A coworker had opened his eyes to the many wonders of the practice, and being doted on by pretty girls appealed to his self-absorbed mentality. Mie was one of the more expensive women he visited, usually having to save up the cost of three visits just to meet her once. Still, though he could visit her at her work, he lacked the finances to support an out-of-club date that the more luxurious clients would sometimes initiate. Konisuke, though pretentious, was not stupid. He understood the separation between real dates and the business aspect of those of a high class hostess, but he still felt ashamed that he was unable to provide that extra level of investment that so many women like Mie used to feed themselves. So, after a visit with her, he would fall back into hating some part of society and swear that he would save up and meet her again. However he would usually cave in and meet with a cheaper girl instead. 

She had clearly been on a date, the dress and remnant makeup foretold as much. Her hair had been properly styled at some point, but through unknown means had become an absolute mess. A hair tie limply hung on for dear life from a tangled web of hair. Her eyeliner was smeared from tears and there was a blotch of lipstick that had dragged across the left side of her mouth. One of the fake nails on her left hand had broken, and there was a small red seam coming from where the real nail met flesh. 

“Are you alright Mie-chan? You look like you’ve been through a lot.” Konisuke asked, sitting next to her. 

“Oh Ryu!” She exclaimed, planting her face in her hands.

It was a gesture of exaggeration that came with incredible skill in the plying of money from greasy palms. If she was able to cry for the rich man, then he may donate to her cause. It still pleased him to see such expressions practiced in his honor. 

“I’m so happy to see you again, I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t let me in!” She strategically scooted closer and wrapped her arms around him again. “It’s been so lonely without you coming to visit me!” 

“Well, I mean, I’m happy to see you again as well Mie-chan, but really, what happened?”

“Nevermind that Ryu.” Mie laughed into his chest. “I need five thousand yen to get home, can you give me some money? I’ll really appreciate it~~” She sang. Konisuke slowly pushed her back to her own seat and moved his chair further away. 

“I don’t have that kind of money right now Mie, I got fired.”

Her entire demeanor changed upon this revelation. Of course, nobody could trust Konisuke to hold many dependable qualities. However, as low as she must have thought of him, he still clearly managed to surprise her by his sheer bedrock status as a human being. His drunken ramblings to her whenever he would visit were only half-truths, shared through a degraded veil of self-assurance. Still and still, no matter how poor he was as a person, she at least expected him to be able to keep a part time job. Even high schoolers could work at a convenience store for years. 

“Figures.” Mie sighed as she leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. The long sleeves of her coat flapped around. Her voice even dropped an octave or two. 

“Sorry…” Konisuke laughed, but the room was filled with silence. 

Mie started going through the outside pockets of the coat before her eyes lit up and she pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Without hesitation she pulled one out and started smoking in a dramatically solemn expression. 

“So, Mie-chan–”

“Ikura Hayane, my name is Ikura Hayane, and you’ll call me Ikura-san, you’re not paying me anymore so stop using that stupid name.” She snapped, interrupting him. 

“Yes, sorry then, Ikura-san. So, what happened earlier?”

Ikura rolled her eyes and put the cigarette out on the table before standing and walking over to the fridge. Seeing the emptiness, she slammed it shut and rummaged through his cabinets for a glass. She filled it with water from the tap and sat back down. As she did, she flicked the cigarette butt into a corner of the room. Konisuke made a note to clean it up later on. 

“A client got handsy. We went on a date and about halfway through he tried to bribe me into a love hotel. I don’t do that kind of thing and I said as much, he got mad and stopped being as nice about it. I got away but I never bring my own stuff to these things so I’m basically stranded unless I can get money for the train. I remembered your address was nearby so I went knocking on doors until I found you, it took a little while.” Her shoulders slumped and she stared up at the ceiling, likely contemplating her next move. 

“Why don’t you bring your wallet? That’s an oversight, no?” 

She shot an angry look at Konisuke. 

“Are you dumb? What if the guy swipes my bag and gets my ID? Then he knows where I live, what my real name is, it’s just asking for trouble.”

There was a knock at the door. Initially Konisuke was surprised by how busy he was that day, but Ikura’s side glare portrayed a distinct paranoia. No matter how unbothered she had been, or rather, how the situation had not emotionally affected her beyond mild agitation. Konisuke knew why she was suddenly frightened; because if the man who had assaulted her came to Konisuke’s door, her safety would be in his hands. She did not barter with him. Instead, her eyes were sharp and dominating. If she was to fall, then so too would Konisuke. That was her promise to him, made without a threatening word or gesture. Simply through the seriousness of her face did he interpret the situation. 

Konisuke pointed to a door that led into the lavatory. 

“It’s cramped, but just in case…” He smiled crookedly, trying to maintain composure. 

“That’s fine, I got to go anyway.” Ikura grumbled, rising and closing the door behind her. 

Konisuke took a deep breath and approached the front door. He looked through the peephole a second time and saw a man in a black coat. He was wearing a hat of the type detectives in  mystery comics usually wore too, but Konisuke could not remember the word for it. He could not, also, decide whether the impression improved his sense of ease or otherwise. Still, without much choice in the matter, he slid the latch and pulled the door open. 

“Hello, is there something I can do for you?”

The man regarded Konisuke and then the room behind him before speaking. 

“I work for a man who was stolen from earlier today. Have you seen this woman?” He pulled out a small work card with Ikura’s face on it. It was the type that hostesses in popular clubs usually gave out so the old men could properly request them the next time. It was a photograph of the girl in her pristine makeup and hairstyle, with their name in colorful lettering on one side. Konisuke had one just like it in his wallet, but Ikura’s—or Mie’s, as the card lied—also had a bird in the background behind the name. Konisuke did not receive many cards, so whether that was her choice or not was unknown to him. 

“Can’t say I have.” Konisuke replied. 

“Look at the picture closely, she may have been wearing a jacket which she stole from my employer, her hair and makeup may also have been disturbed in the escape. She was last seen in this neighborhood” The man's face was square like a brick, and just as stone cold. His deep voice demanded respect and, more than that, cooperation. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t recognize this woman.” 

The man barely listened as he glared into the apartment more aggressively. However, with Konisuke’s final word on the matter, the man sighed and slid the card back into his pocket. Without a word he turned and started down the walkway towards the street. Once he was there he produced a cell phone and likely reported the status of his investigation, before putting it away and disappearing around the corner of the neighboring building. 

Konisuke shut the door and walked over to the bathroom to knock, but Ikura opened up and went to the table while clutching something in her hands. She set it down with high shoulders and a freshly cleaned face. He took note that a hand towel was smeared with the stain of makeup and sat limp in the sink, ruined. 

“Forty-two thousand yen. It’s not a fortune, but it’s enough to get me back home.”

“Isn’t that his wallet? Aren’t you stealing that money?” At this Ikura’s smile fell and her eyes drooped. She was not looking at a person, but at litter in the road, her eyes fixed on Konisuke. 

“I think this counts as compensation for pain and suffering. After all, I can’t really go back to work now, can I? He’ll just track me down there and try the whole ordeal over again, I’ll have to get a new job.” Her eyes flicked to one side. “Hey, where did you work again?” 

“The Lawson in Koto City, near the Toyosu Station. Why?” 

“Well, if you could do it then certainly I can, and they have an opening now, don’t they?” She laughed, swiping up the cash and starting towards the door. Before she could reach it Konisuke struggled to ask a final question. 

“Hey! What’s the deal with that bird on your card?” 

Ikura stopped at the door and turned to him, humored by the question. 

“It’s a kingfisher, you’ve read that poem, right?”

“No?” 

“You know, you’re just a really detestable guy. Try reading Mary Oliver, she’s amazing. Or don’t, I don’t really care. See you never Gomi-suke!” She laughed before flying out the door. 

Left alone again, Konisuke realized he had little to show for the ordeal besides a cigarette butt and a makeup stained towel. He walked over and grabbed the butt, set it on the table, and pulled his notebook out again. 

“Kingfisher’s are stupid.” He wrote, but his unsubtle substitution of Ikura for the kingfisher was blatant, even to him, so he balled up the page and tossed it away. “She called me Gomisuke, where does she get off?” He wrote on the next page, but it, too, was thrown. 

He tried several more times to produce something of quality from his frustrated emotion. In effect, she had shown up to use him, and when he had nothing for her, she disregarded any manners that normal people would have practiced. Eventually, the situation resolved itself. If she had searched the inner pockets of the jacket beforehand, then she would have been able to not bother him. A mistake on her part. Nevertheless, he could not write that and think that it was of notable worth, so it went into a mental waste bin instead. 

What bothered him, though he failed to admit it consciously, was that he had failed her. However one sided the relationship, she had depended on him to have a measly five thousand yen, and still he failed to live up to expectations. Just like work, just like home, just like his whole entire move to Tokyo. The idea that Konisuke could be at fault for his own situation, though, did not even begin to cross his mind. Only the shame that came when such thoughts reached his foolish hand, and so he blamed it on Ikura. 

“Birds are dull minded creatures, so her admiration of it is proof of her own ineptitude.” 

Pleased with himself for this misunderstanding of her final words, Konisuke arrogantly shut the book and went back to the job hunt. Two weeks went by, and when the landlord came again for his rent, Konisuke was on the train back home to Yamanashi. As he flipped through his things, he noticed that scribbled page filled with half-hearted exasperation on the nature of money. He ripped it out and dropped it under his seat. 

“What a joke.” 

In Koto City, out the back alley of a Lawson, Ikura was reading a book of poetry while on a cigarette break. For her part, Ikura was doing much better for herself at the new job. They hired her a day or two after the visit with Konisuke, and she got a small, but functional, apartment nearby the following week. The days when she would flash her thighs for seedy old men and college students would soon be a distant memory. The new faces of passersby concerned her just as much as those ghosts in her memory. Still, as insignificant as she considered those who would be enthralled with her in one-sided wonder, there were an even greater number who she had forgotten altogether. Then, if asked what the Kingfisher thought of her prey, she would look at the interviewer with genuine confusion. 

“Ikura-san!” The manager called to her from the back door. “You’re back on.” 

She waved in agreement and shut the book, standing and returning to work dutifully.

There were more important things to worry about than some stranger with lofty ideas and half-hearted philosophies. She had to eat, she had to pay rent. Whether it was pressing her chest against rich men or flashing a fake smile to working class people in a convenience store, those two basic facts remained the same. Life was about survival, the rest was a waste of time. Thinking like that, Ikura Hayane counted out the change of yet another nameless face. One of a million. The individual nodded their head in complacent gratitude as they turned towards the electric doors. The low brushing sound of their opening was overcome by her perfectly projected voice. 

“Thank you for your business! Please come again!” 

The glass door slid shut without a response.