Compensate Me.

I Need Space to Breathe

A radio play

Neill R Bell-Shaw

Compensate Me. I Need Space to Breathe

OPENING MONOLOGUE, MAY 2012 Copyright 2012 by Neill Robert Bell-Shaw All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

About the Author Neill lives in Tokyo where he spends most of his time trying to improve his writing and riding trains. He is currently finishing his first novel and writing a radio play set in Tokyo. He also does a good rendition of My Way at Karaoke. As well as working on his novel, Neill is undertaking an MA in Professional Writing at University College Falmouth. For more information and contact details please access his website. scuwiffy.com

Neill R Bell-Shaw

Opening Monologue Black-leather night wraps around the lifeless streets of Toshima. Konbini stores pour blue-fluorescent onto sidewalks, and

passengerless taxis canter past adding splashes of orange. Three generations drowse in a mishmash of modern houses and classic homes. Rice cookers wait in kitchens; their alarms blinking one blank one blank one blank. This is not the time for family,

tradition or restraint. This is the time for after-work beers, keepbottle sake or thousand-yen cocktails. The freeway creases Houses sink

towards Ikebukuro like the seam of an old coat.

away, replaced by walls of apartments, and neon wipes a smear across the night. The sttnng trrddg schhhk of pachinko parlours: the falling of metal planets, the falling of yens, the falling of gamblers and lives and salaries. Sake-zombies shuffle towards the mishmash and the drowses. Keyless-singing laps against the street with the opening of doors as more undead stumble from snack bars; perfume the only reminder of a full wallet. The

yeehee ruhhah oouuu of hostesses and hosties: the pouring of drinks, the pouring of platitudes, the pouring of morals and marriages and sponsors. Two suits, ties in pockets, jump from a

Compensate Me. I Need Space to Breathe

taxi and run to indulge in the decanting having started the night in Shinjuku. Kabukicho ward of insobriety and naked immoderation. Skin sold. Drinks bartered. Nights stolen. A daughter swims clothesless in a pool with viewing points - spectators are advised not to feed the animals but animals are always welcome in Shinjuku. Money stolen. Throats cut. Bodies disappeared.

Organized businessmen in disorganized pursuits arrange the players in rectangles of nine ranks by nine files. commerce. Virginity is

Commerce is the quest to lose todays virginity.

Strangers amble bewildered among the temptations and tempters, between rows of jazz clubs, yakitori stands, and bars with English names: Cat Honey, Dream Lady, First Time, Sailor Night. A couple run towards the final Yamonote to Shibuya. The train tchkuutchuutchkuutchus towards the energy of youth. Drunks

dangle from the ceiling swaying with the waves of the train. Girls in more boot than thigh, and others in more leg than skirt, pat cosme on faces framed by yellow hair. Nakamura san coughs out the next station Shibuyyaaa, Shibuyyaa and a four-tone melody awakens sleepers to their destination.

Neill R Bell-Shaw

Yankis huddle in groups outside the One Circle Nine, warmed by cold-cans of umeshu and bleached manes. and girl break-off from the group and climb Love Hill. A man Hotel

Lantos, Hotel Caribbean, Hotel Hawaii and Hotel Cas Di Due all proffer passion by the hour. Pay to undress. Pay to bathe. Pay to touch. Money inserted into machines, in rooms of replica Dress as a nurse. Dress as a nun.

marble and dirty sheets. Dress as a schoolgirl.

But bring your own protection to use Roads of Mos Burgers,

beneath the neon and plastic birds.

ampms and Book Offs, lead through Nishiazabu to Roppongi. Roppongi, the coin of the Tokyo night: on one-side, stacks of celebrity-owned mansions, brand-name outlets and relax-herbal spas; on the other-side, a mass of cheap tittie-bars, buy-medrink girls and special-ending massages; all jostling for cash. Men from African nations peddle bodies by the hour - all drinks are free but touching is paid for. Military men seek escape from death. Clubs offer special discounts for single-women

foreigners may enter free but please leave morals by the door. Beyond the stumbling decadents, towards the outer-edge of Minato, walk two girls. Their uniforms remain at home awaiting junior high, but the girls wear different uniforms tonight.
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Compensate Me. I Need Space to Breathe

Highlighter-pen-pink accessories and ill-gotten designer shoes hide more flesh than their short skirts and tight tank tops. They dip into the light of a Seven-Eleven and wait. He will pick them up soon.