Happy Café

First published in Spilling Ink, 2011. Repost.

Pure white walls, blank obtuse angles. Wine bottles, wire sculptures. So much thought has gone into how casual all of this is. In the window, an old man in pinstripes reads a beaten paperback. The owner bows too low, keeps straying over to my table, desperate to practice his English. I tell him to get a glass and join me. He looks thrilled at the idea, terrified. A breach of etiquette. ‘It’s New Year,’ I say. ‘Drink with me.’

       The crowds from Meiji Jingu fill the streets, clutching takeaway food bought after praying to the old Emperor. They show them on the news, talking heads. I prayed for love, children, success, a promotion, a year free of computer viruses. New Year seemed to be in the direction of Shibuya, where I’d come from.

       I didn’t really know any of the people at the party. Not really. That one was called Toshi, that one Jin, those two were both Ayaka. I couldn't think what their New Year’s resolutions would be. Did Kumiko want to be thinner or to quit smoking? Would Hiroyuki choose to study harder or to start going to the gym?

       ‘I’ll go to the shrine later,’ he says.

       ‘What will you pray for?’

       ‘A new start,’ he says after a moment. ‘What else can you ask for at New Year?’

       We finish the wine.

       ‘What did you pray for last year?’

       ‘The same.’

       The darkness outside is dilute, but the crowds keep coming. The pinstripe man is sleeping with his head against the wall, his paperback curling, wavering in the haze of the heater. Last year I fell asleep on the Yamanote line. Circling underground, overground, for five hours. Going round and round in the January dawn.