“I can’t remember. But if it’s true, I think Kyoto would be a beautiful woman, in furisode and everything, but only during the day. At night she’d be something else. Something mysterious. Like those stories you hear about people with no faces running into you at night. But she’s not scary or evil or anything. She’s just different.”

“That’s an interesting metaphor. Are you sure you didn’t just make it up?”

“I might have. I don’t know.”

We’re pretty quiet until the train arrives at Demachiyanagi Station. We retrieve the scooter and drive along the river, now lit up almost like Christmas, and stop briefly at Kyoto Station. Zaniel lets me wander around the shops decked with giant boxes of fruit cakes, chocolates, baby-pink Hello Kitty stationery with temples and shrines in the backgrounds, black bean nama yatsuhashi, and fancy Kit Kats. He buys me a small box of tea cakes that look like flowers and bunnies, which we polish off after a quick selfie on Zaniel’s phone, before we hit the road again. I feel high on sugar and fumes all the way home. I don’t want this day to end.

Goodbye, Kyoto. See you again.

It’s brighter than it was on the mountain when we get out of the city. I cling to Zaniel’s waist like a drowning sailor again as we swerve between the cars on his two-seater. I close my eyes again, this time because I’m tired, but the noise of the drive and the vibrating against my ass keeps me from falling asleep. Our matching black-and-white helmets with converse tadpole eyes must look like Yin and Yang snaking down the highway like a stealthy sea creature in the ocean. Schools of blue whale trucks and white bass coaches moan and honk around us. A bus full of teenagers shout hello from their windows. They wave, but when some of them stick their tongue out at me I flip them off just as Zaniel guns the engine and the scooter leaps forward. We’re both laughing under our helmets.

It feels late when I recognize the distant Saizeriya I sometimes frequent. “Where do you live?” Zaniel asks at a red light.

“Down this way, past the McDonald’s and the 7-Eleven. But you can drop me off here, it’s fine.”

Zaniel says nothing. The light turns green and we take off. He pulls over at my building, safe and sound. My legs don’t feel so Jell-O-like when I get off the scooter and hand him my helmet, which he tucks away safely under his seat.

“Thanks. I had a great time with you today. You’re sure you’re not a killer, right? You can tell me. I promise not to get mad. I’d rather you tell me now than tell me … you know, later.”

“I could ask you the same thing. Are you capable of killing someone?”