Coin Locker Babies

“They don’t realize that they’ve changed; they think it’s the world that changed.”

You were born in a supermarket world

Kiku, what I’m telling you is that I’m gay. I like men

10:30 A.M. to noon, the time of day when the change in the angle of the sun is least noticeable.

It was only then that she realized that Kiku’s fascination with locomotion was more disease than hobby

“You love cars and buses, don’t you? Why do you like riding around so much?”
“The earth goes around,” Kiku blurted out, “so why should I sit still?”

In an obscure way, Kiku realized he would have to find a new disease.

When Kiku sat and watched him in one of his moods, crying or pouting, he felt like a patient being shown his own X-rays; he knew that hidden inside himself were the same fears and anxieties that were transparent in Hashi, and somehow he’d been hoping that Hashi’s tears would heal both their wounds.

The truth was, he needed Hashi as much as Hashi needed him, the way a healthy person sometimes needs a disease, imaginary though it may be, as a kind of retreat, a safe haven from the problems of the real world.

“We’re the only two, you know. All the others died. You and me, we’re the only ones who made it out of the coin lockers alive.”