I’m slowly riding past Yagi-sama and the post office when I hear my phone vibrate in my purse. The clock in the post office says it’s not even quarter to ten yet, but my purse tingles a second time and once more as I ride past Tully’s. What the hell is going on? It’s not like I’m late. Maybe it’s text spam … or maybe someone from home wants to get a hold of me. Maybe something’s happened. Something serious. Or it’s Lieko harassing me again … but for what? For running late? Late for what? I’m never late. Late, my ass. If anyone accuses me of being late for anything I will dragon-punch them in the throat. For crying out loud, they can’t make me pedal any faster than I’m already going so get off my freaking phone and —

No. I stop myself. That’s the “old” Cybelle losing her temper over meaningless premonitions. This Cybelle is polite, professional, and has not been late once in all the years she’s lived in Japan. There’s no need to go into attitude mode. Don’t be so paranoid. It’s time to enjoy English!

Just to be safe I decide to take a quick detour under the train tracks. I’ll get to Zozo a little faster and maybe shut everyone up a little sooner.

The tunnel is a small pocket of darkness, as expected, occupied by only one passerby: an old woman, by the look of her unkempt grey hair and staggering gait. Nothing out of the ordinary — until I pass her. The silence of the tunnel is torn by a long, loud snort erupting from her nasal cavities.

“Nooo!”

I crush the brake levers on my handlebars and skid to a halt. She hocks a massive projectile that splats on the pavement. It misses me by inches. I can’t help gasping in horror as I shut my eyes and turn my head away before I can see what is on the ground. My “nooo” echoes down the tunnel. The old woman turns and snarls: “hrrrrnh …” It’s a guttural, gurgling, angry sound. I can feel her eyes on me in the dim light. I know that if I look down at the ground at what could be on my bike or on my clothes if I hadn’t stopped, I will puke. Unsure of what else to do, I back up and walk my bike around her, to give her plenty of space. Once I’m out of the tunnel I can’t help looking over my shoulder. She has stopped in her tracks. She watches me go with bloodshot eyes and dribble running down her chin.