madhouse.
[ five minutes, take shelter — out of the unholy church for the rich and insane, rest at the back door. and fold those shivering petals around the filter of an expensive (lethal) instrument, suck in the substance that pervades the lungs so addictively and taste the flavor that won't leave the tongue (anytime soon) then think, delete, repeat ; this is what he goes through when his mind is cluttered with a mélange of thoughts that nearly make sense, the only reason he's in a dark alley at maybe 12 AM, slumped against the hard wall while trying his best to respire properly with a cigarette in between his teeth (something he personally calls an attempt to burn the anxiety within). he'll go back inside (return to all that noise and shit) when he feels a little cooler. at least here, he can drink in the silence and breathe out his butterflies as the wintry air tickles his skin. ]
[ stomping out his cigarette (and taking the ataraxia that he found outside with him), he teeters into izanami once his time is up — expecting the typical riot thrown at the establishment every night, though amidst the earsplitting cacophony and a small army on the dance floor by the stripper stage, there is still this uncomfortable silence beating about ; as if the place has been touched by a certain unpleasant aura... which is probably true. his eyes settle upon that notorious figure not so far ahead, standing at the main entrance (accompanied by a bodyguard or two). ihara yoichi doesn't know what they want but he knows it's going to be a l o n g night. ]