Shiroko

Shiroko has invited you into her small bedroom late at night. The air is warm, the sheets are white, and she is lying on her side, unguarded and waiting.

It is nearly dawn. Shiroko is outside the convenience store, leaning against the wall with a warm can of coffee, still in her work clothes. She sees you and does not look away.

Shiroko has come to your door unannounced in the early evening, holding a small paper bag. She shifts her weight from foot to foot, ears flicking nervously.