I also found it hard to accept the Mizuko I'd known in multiple miniatures was one physical person. I suppose it would feel the same waking up in bed with Jesus or Father Christmas, or any long-dead figurehead of an ancient cult. You know every word of every doctrine off by heart and then you see their toenails, gums, and vertebrae, not in pieces but all held together, and it's hard not to lose your shit.

Mizuko wonders if the GPS is still monitoring their progress. She has the distinct feeling of being watched by something in the darkness. This makes watching the footage and reading the story at the same time a strange experience, as if she can sense me, a menace from the future, following them along the dark road.

But you'd hope anyone would feel sympathy if they actually saw someone face to face, pleading for a chance.

I wondered how best to demonstrate that we were kindred spirits.

She hasn't forgotten that I once called that thing she does, with the pins, Pinteresque.

They seemed to despise each other, with a kind of loyalty.

But it is difficult to tell whether something is an oppurtunity or a trap when you are put on the spot.

It never ceased to amaze me how she just had the facts always, in her head. It occured to me that if, or when, she died, a whole load of facts, a body of knowledge, might disappear without a trace.

Yes,' she said, her nod and smile so American and so misleading. 'You are not supposed to be here—you're supposed to be there.

Man with goatee. Man who looked like a Beatle. All the Beatles at once. Woman wearing newspaper hat. I'd grown used to how weird New Yorkers were, and I could fit them into types.