Nagoya's red light district is divided into clear sections: the Koreans claimed one corner, while the Taiwanese staked a different territory, the Chinese another, etc. These separate territories were clearly delineated, but close enough to permit icy glares and a hail of ethnic slurs through the borders. The Japanese whores inhabited an area apart from the rest; as Japanese in the Land of the Rising Sun, their birthright made them a cut above, too proud and too good to mix with the other prostitutes or do business with dirty gaijin. Whenever a potential customer crossed the border into another ethnic territory, he was surrounded by an enclave of money hungry carnivores and assaulted by a barrage of solicitations, spoken in a broken, bastardized Japanese English hybrid.

'It's like being in Viet Nam,'� I said, twenty-four years old, too young to have experienced said war. I switched my open beer to my left hand, and flexed the fingers of my right hand against the winter night's freezing cold.

I thought of my girlfriend back home, in America, as I was wont to do in the cold nights of my first few months in Japan. Marissa and I had been dating for about three months prior to my departure and, in light of my upcoming travels, we had decided to call it quits.

'It's pointless to maintain a relationship half the world away,'� she said, ever the spirit of common sense, on our last night. 'There'll be other girls in Japan, and there'll be other opportunities for me here. We can always get back together in the future, if we both want, but there's no sense in living for tomorrow.'�

I agreed with her, but the fact brought me no comfort at night, when I huddled against the cold, lying only on a futon on a hard wooden floor in an apartment with no heating. It felt like a betrayal to even think of her.

This evening's aim was to let go of Marissa, to be free of this girl who gripped my heart from thousands of miles away. I hoped another woman, even if I had to pay her, would help take my mind from Marissa.

'What do you feel like having?'� Ryan asked, interrupting my train of thought. 'Tonight, I feel like Chinese.'�

It was our first night exploring Nagoya's red light district, or a red light district anywhere. Ryan and I had an unspoken understanding that, together, we would make our first explorations in the enticing world of paid sexual encounters, which led us into downtown on this cold January night. On the brisk walk, we had stopped into a local convenience store and purchased a six-pack of Sapporo, alcohol to steel us for the night ahead.

A young Taiwanese woman, dressed in a tight, faded orange sweater and jean skirt, walked up to Ryan.

'You want massage?'� she asked, pronouncing it 'massagee.'�

'How much?'� Ryan asked, his developing proficiency in Japanese apparent. Although we had both been in Japan for less than two months, Ryan, always industrious, managed to learn the basic Japanese vernacular for picking up women in bars and discussing sexual arrangements.

'5000 yen.'�

'4000 yen,'� he countered, and took a swig from his beer.

'5000 yen.'� She was firm.

'I got a Chinese girl over there who'll do it for 4000,'� he replied in English, aware that she wouldn't understand a word of it.

She couldn't understand the words, but the tone and body language made Ryan's message clear enough. The prostitute responded in her own way, by turning her back and pacing on the corner, looking for fresh meat.

Translation: fuck off. Working girls don't have time for bullshit.

Meanwhile, I had engaged a nearby girl in a similar conversation. Ryan placed his hand on my shoulder.

'C'mon, man, these girls aren't playing ball,'� he said.

'What are you talking about? Just pay your 5000 yen and let's get it done.'�

'Look at these women,'� Ryan said, gesturing at the squadron, about eight or ten in total, milling about and searching for their next target, like vultures, already forgetting Ryan, his close-lipped wallet, and his finicky ways. 'We're not getting any customer service. I want a girl who's going to work for her money.'�

'You sound like a bitch,'� I accused. 'You want everything to be perfect. It's my first time; it has to be special. Let's just do it.'�

Ryan halted in his steps and screwed up his face, considering the allegation. With vacant eyes, he stared several hundred meters to the south, at the Nagoya skyline. Nagoya Towers, twin monstrosities of steel and concrete, reached up into the sky and declared their prominence over the surrounding buildings. The Towers housed a variety of offices and corporations, a central hub for business as well as an extensive network of subway and train lines below. Even at this late hour, yellow emitted from scattered offices, softening the industrial building's sterile feel with a warm glow. Count on it: at any time of the day or night, someone would be hard at work on something. You never had to face the cold night alone.

The Towers served as a wonderful landmark and navigational tool, as our apartment building was situated only a five minute walk away. No matter where in Nagoya I found myself, no matter how lost, I could follow the North Star of the Towers home.

'Maybe you're right,'� Ryan said, exhaling.

'Of course I am. There was nothing wrong with that Taiwanese bird. They're trying to make a living out here. I'm sure they're all customer service when you pay them.'�

He strode with determination to the swarming pack of vultures, but they paid him no mind now, remembering his previous negotiations.

Ryan caught the eye of the girl he'd spoken to earlier, and moved towards her.

'5000 yen?'� he asked for confirmation, raising his eyebrows.

'Five thousand,'� she said, and nodded her head.

'Okay.'� The reply was punctuated with even more vigorous head nodding, and I realized that the majority of our conversations in Japan'even when we knew the required words'were accompanied by exaggerated, cartoonish gesticulations.

I flagged down a girl of my own, and immediately felt a rush of sympathy for her'she couldn't have been older than eighteen or nineteen. Although standing several feet away and chatting with his girl, Ryan must have recognized the look on my face. He walked over, a lit cigarette dangling from his lower lip.

'Social Darwinism,'� he said in a low voice. 'Your money helps these girls live.'�

'I'm helping keep them in business. If people like us didn't solicit these prostitutes, they'd be forced to get other jobs. Maybe live better lifestyles.'�

'No. Do you think prostitution was their first choice? Of course not. They're here because, for one reason or another, conventional jobs didn't work out for them. And don't kid yourself: those liberal feminists would have you believe that prostitution exploits and degrades women, but you're going to walk in there with a hundred bucks'a day's work'and she's going to take it from you with a half hour's worth of manual labor. Who's really getting taken advantage of?'�

I nodded, and turned back to the girl I had summoned. She was an attractive enough creature. Dark brown hair cascaded down her face, reaching to her shoulders and waving as she moved. She wore a white down jacket, unzipped, with a dark red turtleneck underneath, but these items did little to hide her form: her body was young and firm. Her blue jeans terminated in a pair of boots at her ankles. She had a mole on the left side of her face, underneath her mouth, but it wasn't altogether unattractive'in fact, the mole's dark black purity against her yellow skin was somehow tempting to me.

I conducted my business in haste, knowing that my alcohol inspired courage was temporary. If I was going to do this tonight, I had to do it now.

The two prostitutes took us by our hands and led us toward a darkened office building several feet away. The building, by all outward appearances a normal office building, should have been closed at this time of night, but a quick pull by my girl opened the oversized glass door.

'I'm gonna drink this beer and smoke this cigarette as I'm getting it done,'� Ryan said with a grin, and saluted me with his beer. 'Here's to feeling good, all the time.'�
'Cheers,'� I replied, and knocked my can against his, as we were led into the building's dark confines.

*

Of the time I spent with the prostitute, I remember only brief detailed snapshots. Most of it's a blur. Perhaps the alcohol affected my perceptions. I know that, according to my watch, I spent about forty minutes with her, but I can't remember forty minutes of events. My only guess is that when that Taiwanese girl welcomed me into her suite, it warped space somehow.

I remember exiting the elevator, with the Taiwanese girl leading me down a dark corridor, the only illumination seeping out from the closed doors of other 'after hours'� establishments. I could hear the floor creak with each footstep we took in the hallway. Her every breath was audible, and, together with the fantasies swirling in my head, began to arouse me. As she walked, she pulled off her heavy winter coat, revealing a hard body, full of curves and experience. I remember feeling her smooth, knowing hand interlaced with my own as she led me into her den, a normally innocent expression of affection twisted and out of place in the current environment. Down, down, down the corridor she led me, into the inky blackness and the unknown.

At the hall's end, we emerged in a lounge area, illuminated by two dim, free-standing lamps strategically placed at opposite corners, shedding light on the surroundings but still allowing for so many seductive, atmospheric shadows. A large wooden counter occupied the room's right side. Opposite the counter, flush against the room's opposite wall, there was a black leather sofa, and an Asian woman of indeterminate age snoozed while sitting upright, her head resting against the sofa's back. I remember Ryan and his prostitute being there, somewhere, but it was all lost in the complete sensory overload I experienced.

My prostitute released my hand and walked around the counter, retrieving a cash box from a shelf beneath. She pulled a key from her pocket. The key flashed as it moved, catching a ray of light from the lamp in a moment suspended in time. After placing my hard-earned money into the security box and re-locking it, she once again took my hand and led me into a back hallway, another dark hallway with rows of curtained rooms on either side.

She selected the first of these rooms, parted the curtains, and motioned me in. I removed my shoes and stepped up onto the raised floor. A layering of pillows and cushions covered the traditional tatami mat floor. A solitary nightlight, plugged into an outlet in the small room's far wall, bathed the room in a subdued orange glow.

She helped me in removing my clothes and lying on my stomach, on a white towel set out for me. Practiced hands move up and down my back, kneading my flesh. She straddled me, and I could feel the warmth from between her legs on my naked back. My muscles melted under her hands. She motioned me to flip over so she could massage my front side. Then, without warning, she stopped.

She spoke in tongues, whispering incomprehensible Japanese and gesturing at my hips. I wanted to imagine it was something dirty and sexual, but it turned out to be about money; now that I lie in her den, naked and helpless, she wanted more of it. I couldn't explain my situation to her, that I was flat broke after paying her initial fees. After several minutes of gesturing in vain, I reached in my nearby pants pocket and retrieved my wallet, opening it to display its bare insides to her.

Her eyes widened in understanding and she let loose another string of Japanese, but I managed to catch the word for friend and heard the questioning rise in her voice. I nodded.

You know who your true friends are when you're down in the trenches, when you're getting a handjob from a Taiwanese whore and she asks for another 3000 yen you don't have. That night, Ryan jumped on the grenade for me.

But I was right. After they were paid, they were all customer service.

*

When the moment came, I thought of Marissa. I could picture only Marissa, with her shoulder length, jet-black hair, her almond shaped green eyes, her easy, disarming smile and accompanying dimples. Marissa, with her nonsensical love for instant soup, with her steadfast refusal to pay for anything in bills, arguing that not enough people used their spare change and it was a waste. Marissa, with her damnable forthrightness and common sense.

I could think only of her. It felt like a betrayal.

*

Not wanting to face the walk home alone, I waited for Ryan outside the deserted office building. It was about fifteen minutes before he showed up, a wide grin plastered on his face.

'How'd you do, playa'?'� he called, his voice dispersing in all directions, seeming fragile against the night's overwhelming blackness and the emptiness of our surroundings.

'I did alright.'�

'I was disappointed,'� Ryan said, 'but I guess you only get what you pay for.'�

'What do you mean? We paid some serious scratch for that,'� I argued, squinting my eyes.

'Sadly.'� Ryan kept his eyes fixated on the ground in front of him. 'It was experiential.'�

We began walking through the early morning toward home, the early sun's pink-purple rays struggling against the Towers' dark, judgmental silhouettes. All of the lights were finally out.

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