Sleepwalking through bicycle graveyards. Stumbling upon long lost storage lockers. Black light sabers. Magenta glare. Existence feels like daedal tests. Hearing voices – “I am the lock, I am the key.”

Remembering maps and ends of the world.

And then suddenly, a real-life Random middle of the morning telephone call.

“I’m in serious trouble. Desperate measures. Have to go.”

INT. – STUDIO 1813

Art. Photography. Being paid in sex. Paint brushes flare like Roman candles. Permanent orange. Competing moans. Space age lounge and a chalky voice from a stereo on the floor in the middle of the room:

Yes, she smiled, and at you;
but the look wasn’t worth half the time that it took.
Oh, you sped through a yellow light when you should have hit the breaks instead.

INT. – UNKNOWN

Murder contests, hide-and-seek rooms. Nightmare daylight. Prussian blue. Death Star construction sites – undersea ghost towns. Counting down humans. Gaslight ruse.

“Who the hell turns this city on?”

Caught in the middle of inside out of touch.

EXT. – IKEBUKURO STATION

September sweat. Grim humidity. A ubiquitous reek of old-man’s Mentholatum. Guerrilla graffiti in disposable black spray painted all over cracked white walls: スプリンターネイル！

CUT TO – BIRD’S EYE VIEW

Swarms of drunken karaoke ‘jins. Like sitting ducks from where I stand, at the middle of the top of Sunshine City. Feel for my gun, but someone calls the police instead. Stormtroopers in. Riots break out. Intense heat. Safety in serial numbers…

And then suddenly, an explosion.

“I’m in serious trouble. Desperate measures. Have to go.”