Part II: The District Sleeps Alone Tonight

Smeared black ink

Your palms are sweaty

And I'm barely listening

To last demands

I'm staring at the asphalt wondering

What's buried underneath.

(Where I am)

“Hey, Jirou. It’s me.”

It was obvious who “me” was. Jirou lit the cigarette between his lips with the hand that wasn’t holding his cell.

“I don’t know when you’ll be getting this message… but right now it’s Wednesday. I wanted to let you know that I’m moving out of the house next week and…”

Jirou slammed his phone shut.

He hadn’t really meant to. It was a reflex.

He ground his newly lit cigarette into the ashtray on the hotel room coffee table in frustration and immediately regretted it. What a waste.

“Damn it, Ichi…” he muttered, running a hand through his black hair.

For a long moment, he simply sat there, glaring at the ceiling, before picking his phone up again.

Then he dialed voicemail again to listen to the entire message.

(Where I am)

I'll wear my badge

A vinyl sticker with big block letters

Adherent to my chest

That tells your new friends:

I am a visitor here; I am not permanent

And the only thing

Keeping me dry is

Jirou didn’t know what he was doing here. It was raining and this part of the city stunk of garbage and poor people.

The building was ugly and ominous and truthfully he doubted whether the address Ichimaru had given him was correct. There was no way he could go inside such a place.

It seemed dirty. Unsafe.

Who knew what kind of people lived there.

(Where I am)

You seem so out of context

In this gaudy apartment complex

A stranger with your door key

Explaining that I'm just visiting

And I am finally seeing

Why I was the one worth leaving.

Why I was the one worth leaving.

Ichimaru looked surprised. He hadn’t really expected this.

He hadn’t expected his twin brother to show up at his new front door only hours after he had moved in, the makeup washed off his face and the dye out of his hair.

They actually looked the same now.

“Jirou.”

He invited him inside. The only unpacked pieces of furniture were a couple folding chairs and the dining table. They sat across from each other, neither one speaking for a while. Jirou lit a cigarette and took a long drag, then spoke.

“So, you’re really doing this.”

It wasn’t a question. Ichimaru nodded.

“I… needed a change of scene.”

Jirou eyed his brother coldly.

This place was a dump. Ichimaru wasn’t poor. He could live anywhere he wanted. Why would he choose here?

Someone knocked on the door.

“Excuse me,” Ichimaru said, getting to his feet again. He opened the door to a faceless man Jirou could care less about.

“I’ve got your key, ‘Maru. Thought you’d want it.”

Jirou’s eye twitched. This man didn’t have the right to call Ichi by a nickname. Apparently the man peeked in the door, for he asked, “That your brother?”

“…Yes.”

“He’s not living with you, is he? I thought you said…”

“No… no, he’s just visiting.”

The man seemed satisfied. Ichimaru thanked him for the key and closed the door.

“Your landlord.”

Again. It wasn’t a question. Ichimaru answered anyway. “…Yes.” He returned to the table and sat down. He laced his fingers together.

He looked so… empty. Hollow and frail. Drained.

“You… You don’t have to visit if you don’t want to...”

D.C. sleeps alone tonight.

Jirou walked as quickly as he could to his car.

He had to get out of here.

The halls were dreary and narrow and lit in a strange red hue.

It was suffocating.

He could hear the residents in the apartments, their televisions, their music, their conversations. He heard a girl screaming something, and a man yelling back. It was a break up in process.

“You’re never around anymore!”

It wasn’t until he got outside that he could breathe again.

He had forgotten it was raining.

(Where I am)

You seem so out of context

In this gaudy apartment complex

A stranger with your door key

Explaining that I'm just visiting

And I am finally seeing

Why I was the one worth leaving.

Why I was the one worth leaving.

He wasn’t sure how he had ended up here.

The old man had been closing up when he had caught the door. The man tried to tell him that they were closed, but Jirou said he just wanted one drink. Or two.

The bar was dim and empty except for them.

The man simply sat behind the counter, watching Jirou brood into his glass of hard liquor.

“Mind if I ask about it?”

He didn’t need to be told Jirou was in a bad mood. It was completely obvious. Jirou shook the ice in his glass a little.

“I think I was dumped.”

The man leaned his elbow against the counter, closing his eyes to listen better. He was a stocky, gray man with a stubbly beard. “Hmm,” he said.

It was a good “hmm.” Not a bored, uninterested “hmm.” It was a “Really? Tell me about it,” “hmm.”

“She moved out when I was gone. I travel a lot.”

“Ah.”

“She doesn’t belong there. She deserves better.”

The man opened his eyes and stood. He pulled a glass and a cloth out from somewhere, and began to wipe the glass clean, as if it helped him think.

“I don’t know why she has to act like this. It’s not like we were serious.”

“Maybe she thought you were.”

Jirou’s eyebrows creased.

“Maybe I’m wrong, so don’t quote me on it, but from what I can tell, she was probably tired of being alone. Maybe she didn’t have as many distractions from loneliness as you.”

Jirou scowled.

His voice was low, almost inaudible. “I can’t stay. He knows that.”

The old bartender looked up as Jirou stood. “What? He…?”

Jirou reached into the pocket of his jacket and threw some random bills and coins on the counter. “Have a nice night, pops,” he hissed.

His pace was quicker than it should have been as he left the bar and climbed into his car. He revved the engine, listened to it growl, and tried hard not to think.

“Jirou, I love you…”

(Where I am)

The district sleeps alone tonight

After the bars turn out their lights

And send the autos swerving

Into the loneliest evening.

And I am finally seeing

Why I was the one worth leaving.

Why I was the one worth leaving.