young people in the latest Tokyo fashion reminiscent of MadMax extras with hair that defied the definition of hair, and the hodgepodge of normal folk—passed her by.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” This looks like the subway threw up another subway and then had a bastard child with a plumbing blueprint. The little blurb on the tourist website said the Tokyo subway wasn’t so different from New York’s “once you got the system down.” But you’d need a damned engineering degree to figure it out.
She used her finger to trace the pink line to the purple line that connected to the light rail to the airport. Okay, you got this. I am a woman of the world.
She rolled her enormous suitcase over to a machine that resembled a space station console and purchased her ticket. She then did an entire lap around the upper platform, weaving through the flowing crowd, trying to avoid people tripping over her suitcase. Where is it, dammit? Unable to read Japanese or find an elevator anywhere, she had no choice but to lug.
With two hands, she carefully maneuvered her wheelie beast down several flights of stairs. Honestly, she’d packed heavy because she’d assumed she would be flying private and thought she would need business clothing for different climates; but she probably could’ve done without the seven pairs of jammies and the daily workout clothes she knew she’d never use.
When she finally got to the train platform, she stopped. “No. No way.” The waiting train was so tightly packed that the people looked like cartoon characters who’d been flattened with a steamroller—cheeks, lips, and chins smooshed against the windows.
The doors began to close, and men in conductor uniforms began pushing, their shoes squeaking as their heels slipped over the white tile floor. The already sardine-ized people inside didn’t protest, groan, or make so much as a face as the invasion of their personal space crossed over into “Hey! Only my doctor gets to go in there,” territory.
Taylor’s jaw dropped. She’d heard about “the pushers” but didn’t believe they actually existed. Guess I’m not getting on that train. Besides, she’d had her quota of dry humping for the day.
A moderately full train on the opposite side of the platform pulled up. It had enough room for her to board without having to get intimate.
She glanced at the giant map of colorful squiggles on the wall. Okay, that train looks like it’s going north. She knew the airport was northeast, so maybe she could work her way around the rush hour traffic and stay off the congested lines. She’d have to make more transfers, but it might work.
She glanced at her watch, noting she had two hours. She hobbled along with her oversized travel monstrosity, swearing to never pack more than clean underwear and a toothbrush in the future.
Ten minutes later
Dammit! This isn’t north, she thought, staring at the multicolored clusterfuck (or “map”) inside the brightly lit, sterile-looking train car filled with passengers that had the whole avoiding eye contact thing down to an art.
She leaned toward an older woman in a tan trench coat standing next to her. “Excuse me? Do you speak English?”
The woman, who wouldn’t look at her, stepped away to the side.
Taylor sighed. Okay, I get the point. The train is a do not disturb zone.
She glanced back up at the map. Apparently they were heading west, away from the airport and to the other side of Tokyo.
She hopped off at the next station and saw another train going in the opposite direction. It, too, wasn’t all that full. She glanced at the signage and the name above said “Tonzai.” I think that’s the one I want.
She ran and caught it, deciding to pick out her transfer station once on board. Just as long as she was heading in the right direction.
Ten minutes later
“Come on!” Now she headed south instead of north. Haven’t I paid my crappy-day dues already? After the night with Bennett and their “discussion” this morning, she just couldn’t take any more ripples in her pond. She just wanted to get home and lick her wounds.
She got off on the platform at the next station and went to the crazy map of silly town, while people flowed past her like river water around a rock.
With her finger, she found her current location and laughed, throwing up her hands. She’d managed to travel exactly to the other side of her hotel. Underground. Like a brain-farting gopher.
She shook her head. Okay, maybe it was