glimpse zebras streaming, manes flowing. Coffee retrieves her mobile phone, beeping ‘Star Spangled Banner’, answers it and proceeds to have a conversation about where she is and how totally unbelievable her night is. Recklessly I frape my Yamaha around the long, banking curve – I cut inside Daimon and we are neck and neck. ‘Say, Miyake, this is as valid or as stupid a test of masculinity as anything else, don’t you agree?’ I risk a side glance. ‘I guess’ – he flashes a dangerous grin. ‘Like, a twenty-first-century duel,’ comments Coffee, putting her phone back in her bag. ‘For sure!’ replies Velvet. ‘Miyake is going to make you eat grit, right, Miyake?’ I say nothing but her little finger mines my navel and threatens to worm farther down until I say, ‘Okay.’ ‘Settled, then,’ replies Daimon, and veers into me. Velvet screams as I lose control and slam into an oncoming jomo fuel tanker. Baaannnnnnggggggggg! When the fun-size nuclear explosion dies down, Daimon and Coffee are disappearing into the distance, small as a full stop. ‘Nasty accident,’ tuts Daimon. My Yamaha stutters into second gear. ‘Like, ruthless!’ laughs Coffee. ‘No way he’ll catch up now.’ Daimon glances over at me. ‘Poor Miyake. Remember, it’s only a video game.’ Velvet’s grip loosens. An absurd idea comes to me that owes more to two whiskies on two beers than original thinking. I skid the Yamaha through a U-turn, and discover that, yes, I can drive counter-clockwise. The ‘Seconds Elapsed’ tick down. The zebras in the zoo stream backwards. A programmer as nutty as Suga must have written the software. Velvet’s hands tweak my nipples to show approval. We pass the start line – ‘Laps Completed’ reads ‘-1’. I tear up the swing-bridge – the bike flips up as we leap through space, and shudders as we land on the far ramp. Here comes Daimon on his Suzuki. ‘Like, what?’ Daimon begins a sentence with ‘You sneaky fucking—’ I mirror his evasive swerve, and skid straight into his headlamp, as round as the moon on a bright day. No explosion. Our bikes freeze in mid-tilt, the music stops and the screens die.
‘I am not used to not winning.’ Daimon gives me a look that would worry me if we weren’t friends. ‘Deep down, you are one devious sonofabitch, Miyake.’
‘Poor Daimon. Remember, it’s only a video game.’
‘Advice.’ Daimon does not smile. ‘Never punch above your weight class.’
Coffee makes a confused noise. ‘Like, where’d the velocodrome go?’
‘I think’ – Velvet dismounts – ‘Miyake busted the video machine, big time.’
Daimon swings off his Yamaha. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Like, where?’ Coffee slips off the bike.
‘A quiet little place where they know me.’
‘Did you know,’ asks Coffee, ‘if you pluck your nasal hair instead of trimming it you can burst a blood vessel and die?’ Daimon leads us through the pleasure quarter as if he created it. I am lost, and hope I won’t need to find my own way back to Shinjuku metro. The crowds have thinned a little from before, the pleasure-seekers all harder core now. A sports car nudges by, throbbing with bass. ‘Lotus Elise 111S,’ says Daimon. Coffee’s mobile phone beeps ‘Auld Lang Syne’, but she can’t hear the caller despite shouting ‘Hello?’ a dozen times. Jazz brays through an open door. A queue of the hippest people wait outside. I enjoy the envious stares we earn. I would die to hold Velvet’s hand. I would die if she slapped my hand away. I would die if she wanted me to take it and I never realized. Daimon tells us a long story about misunderstandings with drag-queens in Los Angeles that make the girls shriek with laughter. ‘But, like, LA is really dangerous,’ says Coffee. ‘Everyone has guns. Singapore’s the only really safe place abroad.’ ‘Ever been to LA?’ asks Daimon. ‘No,’ says Coffee. ‘Ever been to Singapore?’ asks Daimon. ‘No,’ says Coffee. ‘So somewhere you have never been is less dangerous than somewhere else you have never been?’ Coffee rolls her eyes. ‘Like, who says you need to go a place to know about it? What do you think TV is for?’ Daimon defers. ‘Hear that, Miyake? This must be feminine logic.’ Coffee waves her arms in the air. ‘Like, long live girl power!’ We walk down a passageway lit with signs for stand bars, where an elevator is waiting. Coffee hiccoughs. ‘Which floor?’ The elevator doors close. I shudder with cold. Daimon adjusts his reflection, and decides to switch on his good humour.