Roji

Regardless of how dark the alleyway was that stretched out before her, she would be able to find her way. Sometimes she even challenged herself - closing her eyes at its mouth and slowly making her way down, deeper and deeper into the shadows.

It was one of those unassuming alleyways. It didn't garner much attention from the average tourist or citizen who may happen to pass by. During the day, frankly, it was rather boring. Lined with shops. Fresh produce on display. The occasional trinket to try and lure in said tourists. Nothing out of the ordinary. It didn't offer beyond what one of the other hundred alleyways already had nestled away. At night it was even more unassuming. Most of the lights were turned of - bathing anything beyond the glow of the streetlights in darkness. What could be seen from the street didn't seem too appealing. Piles of garbage, waiting to be picked up. Stray cats and dogs roaming between heaps - hoping to find their meal for the day. The neon signs hummed, casting an eerie echo into the shadows. Paper lanterns rustling in the occasional gust of wind. To anyone else but her, it surely seemed dangerous.

An alleyway perfect for mugging.

But she knew it wasn't. It was a safe neighborhood. There were no gangs present. No Yakuza. They held territories in the much larger cities and wouldn't dare be caught wasting their time in such menial places. The worst reported crime the past year had involved a stolen car - which turned out to be parked around the corner. The city itself was harmless, as was its residents. So as dark as it may appear, she knew the path before her was safe.

She had walked down it so many time that the whole process was engraved into her brain. The first few times she had counted the sewer grates for reference. But now she did it without even a second thought - knowing that she would connect to the next street shortly after walking over number six. The animals that burrowed through the trash, as mangy as they appeared, were as friendly as could be. Just yearning for attention. Over the years she had grown attached to them - often times trying to sneak food from the office to give to them on the way home. She also knew that by step one hundred and fifteen, the overpowering smell of gyoza would invade her nostrils and tie her stomach in a knot. Each night she'd wish that the little storefront would be open, knowing well before she even began her walk home that it wouldn't be. They were the best dumplings in town and their aroma teased her the entire way - until she rounded the corner onto the main street. The green onion, savory pork, friend dough all popping into her mind. Seeping out from behind the doorframe. It was pure torture. But at least she knew that once she smelled them, she was only fifty three more steps from the other end.

Sometimes she had thought about it. There were quicker ways to the office. Shorter ways. Routes that were much more well lit. Yet none of that mattered. She loved the little things about her routine. How she felt protected by the alley, in good company of the cats and dogs. But what she loved most was the fact that it was hers.

And she was going to keep it that way.