Panic ensues. Fights seem to break out on all sides of us as people run for the nearest exits. Crumpled on the floor, an older man laughs himself in stitches. “FAITOOO!” he cries with a mouth full of teeth and blood. As if they’ve prepared for this their whole lives, all servers and bartenders put down their trays and menus and file along in neat orderly lines to the nearest emergency exits. Everyone else pushes and screams. Zaniel grabs my jacket, umbrella, and purse, yanks me into a stairwell, and presses me against the cold stone walls to avoid the barrage of panicked, flailing patrons. Some still have napkins tucked into their shirts, others are still holding chopsticks, and one small woman has a mouth full of what used to be some kind of mousse cake half-spilling from her lips as she shouts for everyone to get the hell out of her way.

“Well, I said I could go for an adventurous Friday night,” I gasp. “Never again.”

Zaniel is giggling. He’s clearly still drunk. “Look on the bright side, at least you don’t have to work tomorrow!”

I could slap him. “I do have to work tomorrow!”

“What?! Why?”

“EIKAIWA.”

He cocks his head, thinking about it for a second, then bursts out laughing. “Oh, right! I completely forgot.”

“Oh, terrific. You’ve snapped. You’re violent and happy about it. Fantastic.”

“Just hold onto me and keep your legs moving. Whatever happens, do not let go. Think New Year’s shopping sale. Think rush hour at Shibuya Station!” His voice gets higher the more he speaks, like’s he’s getting off on the excitement.

“I don’t go to either of those things, just to avoid situations like this!”

“Then you haven’t lived, my dear. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Is that why you slugged that guy?! For adventure?”

He grips my hand tighter with a mischievous smirk. “Isn’t that what we’ve both been looking for?”

I groan to myself. “Sweet merciful … What have I done?” Wait a minute. What have I done? Nothing. I don’t owe this guy anything. I barely know him. He’s only been hanging around me for the job … right? “Zaniel,” I say calmly, ignoring the patrons pushing and shoving into us on their way down the steps. “I’m going to need my hand back.”

Zaniel gives me a puzzled look. He doesn’t let go, but I can feel his grip relax. I don’t bother to wait. I wrench my hand away. Now it’s my turn to push and shove my way down the stairs. Someone higher up the stairs, presumably a woman, screams. Another bout of panic ensues as the crowd surges down the steps. I hear my name over the cries of terror. A rogue salaryman tries to shove me from behind. I shove back as we all burst through an emergency exit door into a back alley. I’m carried by the tide of people into an empty shoutengai where I run past closed shops and stores until I see a sign for the Midosuji subway line. I fly down the steps and the empty station halls, not even stopping to dig my wallet out from my purse and scan it over the ICOCA panel. The train plays a happy tune as the door slides closed a split second after I run in. I don’t stop to look over my shoulder or catch my breath until I pass through each car to the last one, where I collapse on the empty row of seats. I’m alone. I’m safe.