Unmistaken Identity

“Keiko? Is that you?”

I don’t recognize his ghostly face, but I know who he is.

I didn’t mind wearing the lingerie. And the money was good. Mama-san was strict with the customers, but the foreigners—they were just too aggressive when drunk.

I feign ignorance and paddle into an oncoming wave.

It crashes on top of me and I’m momentarily pinned on my back under water. Fighting, I surface, on my board again. I watch the white foam from the wave slide down my breasts, peeling off me like the dead skin on a snake baking in the sun.

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