The rumours are conflicting. Some 600,000 people more left the City today, driving battered cars through the quagmire of people. I saw some guys on crutches dragging their bloody limbs off on the long road South. All they had was a flashlight and a sack of instant ramen. Some of the roads and bridges leaving the city have broken down. There are reports of some exit ways being clogged by bands of uniformed guards. No-one in, no-one out.
All supermarkets in Tokyo are sold out of bread and related products. Some sweet cakes can still be found. Pasta remains in certain places though. The locals seem unaware of its stodgy qualities. The 99 yen shop down the street was sold out of all instant ramen except a suspicious looking pot covered in flame drawings. I had to club an old lady with my bike chain to get to it, but I'm eating it now, crumbling it in my hands and licking up the grease. That could last me another 24 hours.
I've been boiling water and adding mouthwash to it instead of iodine, which is hard to find since the pharmacies were looted. I'm concerned that my sixpack of Listerine "Cool Blue" won't last the week. Milk and dairy products are to steer clear of. The putrescence of the cow population is common knowledge. "So fresh you can hear it moo" is no longer comforting.
What will happen when the food runs out? I've been reading Cormac McCarthy's The Road for recipe ideas. I just opened the window with my head in a paper bag to catch the definite whiff of burnt popcorn. What's going on out there?
The bread stockpiling is a mystery. Not a single egg can be found either. Secret French Toast parties. Probably the brain-addled freaks of the northern sector. It makes me sick to my stomach, but all I can retch up is a green, oily substance that reminds me of when I used to smoke Royals.
On the way back home today the subway broke down and we had to get out and push. All the men in their identikit black suits and the ladies with their shopping bags. The suits are filthy, have been for days, the shopping bags empty. People carry on.
Messages are sent through social networking sites. People who I haven't seen since Kindergarten urge me to flee. Don't they understand it's too late? The poison in my system has to be sated by continued ingestion. Or my organs will collapse. I read it on the BBC.
The wound I sustained during the Quake has start to glow faintly. I used it to heat up my last apple and then sprinkled it with the last of my cinnamon.
Better order pizza tonight.
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