Sushi Girl

The man with a snake tattoo curling around his neck, slices fish and rolls rice behind the counter. She walks in. He nods and raises his right hand in greeting. His little finger is missing. There are other men in black suits and pencil thin leather ties, seated in booths and at the bar, drinking Sake in silence. They pay her no attention. She walks straight past to the room out back.

She showers, applies make up - but no deodorant - and crimps eyelash extensions. She lies naked on the table.

The man enters with a tray of sushi. He starts to place salmon sashimi in a circle around her left nipple. He stops and says.  ‘Let’s go now. We can be on a train within the hour.’ She looks at him, reaches out like a small child to clutch the little finger on his left hand and shakes her head. 

He pulls away, refocuses and places ebi nigiri in a line from her throat between her breasts to below her belly button, unagi nigiri on her forehead, wasabi in her nostrils. He sprinkles icing sugar on her toes for the men with a sweet tooth and foot fetish.

He rolls her out.  The men stand in silence and take silver chopsticks from silk pouches in their breast pockets. They surround her and start to eat. She closes her eyes and lets herself go. She is on the 336am train from Shinjuku platform 6 bound for Koya-san.