“Now you see how it’s done, more or less. You might as well distribute these around the city after you leave.”
Akira looks down at what appears to be a newsletter. The headline reads SPILLED WATER DOES NOT RETURN TO THE TRAY. Seiji hands him a set of keys and tells Akira he may work when he wishes and that Seiji can only afford to spare five thousand yen a week but will allow him to sleep in the building if it’s needed. “After all,” he goes on, “there is nothing to steal unless you plan on strapping the printing press to your back.” Akira leads the way back upstairs, stops suddenly in front of a picture hanging on the wall that he did not notice coming in. “My wife and daughter,” Seiji explains, staring deeply into the photo, “taken two weeks before the sarin attack in ninety-five. My daughter survived. But she has chosen to forget she has a father. This is the only way I can protect her.”
Akira leaves Seiji’s with a messenger bag filled with newsletters. He marches out to the nearest busy intersection, right outside of a business park fountain. He waves the newsletters over his head and shouts out headlines: Wake up and read the real news here! Spilled Water Does Not Return to the Tray! Wake up from your corporate dreams and see the world! A steady stream of people pass Akira from all directions; they do not stop or pay him any mind.
“Hey, you look like you might be a reasonable man,” Akira says, shoving a newsletter into the arms of a young office worker. The man jumps when Akira approaches but takes the newsletter and walks on.
“Miss, could I bother you for a moment? Sir, have you heard about the electromagnetic wave pollution? Excuse me, excuse me,” Akira says. Across the street, he sees another street canvasser for a mortuary planning phone app. The woman is standing with someone in a pink coffin costume who dances around, passing out tissue packets, hand fans, and visors. People stop to pose with the coffin and chat with the canvasser and Akira realizes that he’s at a disadvantage without any kind of swag to offer.
“Spilled water does not return to the tray,” Akira says again. “The plague has shown us the way. Say no to capitalism and yes to community. Say yes to your fellow human being.” Akira is about to pass out another newsletter when he feels a hand violently pulling him away from the sidewalk.
“Leave immediately,” a police officer says to Akira. He’s an older, barrel-chested man with tinted plastic glasses. His eyes are trained on Akira, unmoving. “We will not tolerate extremist propaganda on our property. You are a nuisance. Show me your ID card.”
“I don’t have it on me,” Akira says.
“What is your name?” The officer takes out a tablet and stylus from his pocket.
“Kenta Oe,” Akira says, proud of his spontaneous bullshitting. “From Saitama.” The officer takes one of the newsletters and pushes Akira in the direction of the nearest train station.
Having little luck in a downtown area, Akira picks a new spot outside of Harajuku Station. The mix of a younger, more alternative crowd might be more welcoming. At first, he is shy about giving the papers to people close to his age, barely raises his voice, feels ashamed for his torn jeans and dirty T-shirt while in one of the fashion capitals of the world. People take the papers without a thought, continue walking as if it’s a coupon book or a flyer for a concert. But he sees some kids reading them over sodas and burgers and shaved ice. He hears a young woman say maybe they’re not all lunatics as her husband or boyfriend throws the newsletter in the trash.
Before returning to the virtual cafe that night, Akira stops by Ameyoko Market, watches Yoshiko break down her stall for the evening, and wishes he had the courage to walk up to her like some Hollywood lover boy. In his cafe cubicle, he anxiously waits for Yoshiko to arrive in-world, so he can tell her about his day. He wonders what proportion of happy moments to sad ones is necessary for a person to sincerely want to keep living and hopes he and Yoshiko can get there together. Akira takes out a copy of the Sun Wave Society newsletter that he kept for himself to pass the time. He is surprised to find himself agreeing with much of what he reads. Perhaps not the end of the world part or the mysterious tenth planet that will supposedly cause the magnetic poles to shift, resulting in global catastrophe, but the underlying spirit of it all. He sees the responsibility we must take for the planet, our home, ensuring a future for the next generation. He imagines people on the street looking up from their phones and into each other’s eyes— Hello, how are you? Why are you so sad? How can we do better?