Jet Moon doesn’t have a ticket but she’ll ride on to the next station. She’ll get off, ride the escalator upwards and emerge onto the street. It’s raining in Tokyo tonight. She’ll pass by a comic book stand, plastic meals in a window. Rain sluices down the window. There is a bar on the street. Jet Moon doesn’t have any money but she goes into the bar.
Jet Moon supersonically eyes off the window. She’ll be watching the rain sluicing down the window. She’ll be seeing exactly what she saw a moment ago outside, only in reverse. A woman entering a bar. Neon-coated raindrop on her brolley, thick clasp in her hair. A small mist of water released from there, when she turns.
The bar slowly filling up with women. Women who sit themselves at the bar, stare out the window and watch as the next one comes through the door. From the door to the bar, then the window. Necks creak. Jet Moon won’t notice it at first. She’ll be watching the window. She’ll be seeing the rain sluicing down it.
In the corner of the bar, a television.