STATION

The predominant sound was the buzz of fluorescent lights. There were two cops; one was a fat guy twisting his mouth as if to expel a hook. The other was a handsome man with acne scars.

I was put in a folding chair. Through a doorway I saw desks stacked with papers, surrounded by gray-scale photos, bullet-point lists with admonishing exclamation points.

I was babbling. Music, club, Uhnellys, French, hotel.

The handsome cop was having a hard time making sense of the distressed white man. I kept thinking he was going to pick up a phone or type something in his computer, but he just slowly repeated what of my jumbled words he could make out.

He walked away.

I’d now missed sound check—creeping closer to showtime. I put my head in my hands and rocked back and forth. The chair made a banging sound, but I couldn’t stop.

The cop said something to me in the reproving way you speak to a dog; like it gets the gist. He motioned me into the office, handed me the phone.

It was Scrap.

“Mike, where are you?” his voice soft and bewildered. “We’ve been looking everywhere.”

I told him I was at a police station and that he should hand the phone back to somebody Japanese. I realized later: I hadn’t told him why I was at a police station.

The cop spoke briefly to whomever Scrap had handed the phone to and said, “.”

He hung up, swiveled in the chair—it squeaked—turning his back to me.

I said something like, Excuse me, hello, I’m sorry.

At first with trembling politeness, then with panic.

I tried to stop myself from hyperventilating. I was using all my strength not to climb the room like an enraged monkey.

He seemed puzzled that I wasn’t satisfied.

It was showtime, and then it was really showtime; then I was late; then I was very late for the show. The extremely short list of reasons I’ve missed shows includes a forest fire and an overdose.

An hour passed.

The acne-scarred cop cocked his head, motioning me outside.

The cops were done: hit the bricks.

Such despair. Now I wander Kyoto until the angels call me home.

I felt the glass door whoosh behind me.

There was a cab idling there.

I turned to confirm the cab was for me but the cop was back inside the station.