We roll around and tumble inside of Shinjuku station, the earthquake going strong for 30 weeks beneath our feet now. Lights out, probably never going back on so we sneak around looking for lost tickets and recharging stations, exit and entrance gates, on our hands and knees. Pulls fast hard slow and sideways motion. An old man in bucket hat slides around on the floor, an angry turtle on its back, mumbling to himself with much annoyance, clicking noises coming out of the corners of his mouth. Arms and legs poke out of broken debris. Station agents have stacked them into piles and traffic cones on their sides become protective barriers. The trains keep running, but the schedules are very unreliable now. The tracks have to be adjusted and maintained down in the dark without any source of illumination left. They could get the power back on, but then the trains would stop, so this is still the best way to go. Survivors say that taxi cabs running somewhere above us, but it is hard to find an exit because of the intensity of the darkness. More screams echo where the bakery used to be; adult and child, but coming with less frequency now. I think we’re all starting to get used to it down here.