Hikiyose-san stared down the row of chipped red seats, platters of food rolled past him. The smell of shōchū and greasy street-foods hung in the air like a fog, he heaved in a long sigh and it made his lungs feel slow and congealed. The kaitenzushi he was sitting in was called Fūn-Do-Ittōsho and to it's patrons, he was Kūn-Kun, a regular. Ladies-of-the-evening walked the room in sloppy patterns, hunting in shifts, they did not notice the kodachi he concealed inside his yukata, though one of them eyed him hopefully, she must have smelled the gold in his pocket, or wished for death.
He bit into his tongue and slipped a plate from it's turning belt carefully. To both of his eyes, it was a neat plate of assorted sushi, but it smelled of clay up close and once Hikiyose focused with only his left eye, he could see the maggots writhing between the grains of rice.
"Doumo-sumimsen, Shouhisha. ." A woman spoke through the sleeve of her furisode as her cheeks flushed to m