I read the sign and climb a stair. The office door is smoky glass. Inside, a radio plays jazz. I go in. He points to a chair. He\u2019s shabby, but he don\u2019t look dumb. His voice is booze and cigarettes: a weary voice, full of regrets. A gumshoe, laid back, chewing gum.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I tell him: \u201cYou\u2019re a Psychic Eye. I got a problem, something\u2019s changed. It\u2019s like the whole world\u2019s rearranged, gone crazy, but I don\u2019t know why. When joshing with my buddy, Pat, there was a mishap with a gun. The pistol was a loaded one. Things turned peculiar after that. Down at the pool room, I\u2019m ignored. Guys talk and laugh like I\u2019m not there. Goddam invisible, I swear. I was their pal once. Now they\u2019re bored. I crack a joke. They look elsewhere. I shout: \u2018Hey, guys!\u2019 They just don\u2019t hear. I ask for whiskey or a beer. The barman gives me a blank stare.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The psychic nods. I tell him this: \u201cI visited my gal today. She looked right through me, turned away when I leaned forward for a kiss.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He lights a smoke, says: \u201cSome survive a bullet from a careless gun, a lucky few, but you\u2019re not one. Man, you\u2019re a ghost. You ain\u2019t alive. I\u2019m psychic, so I see a bit.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The gumshoe gives me this critique: \u201cFor you, the future\u2019s looking bleak. You\u2019re dead. You gotta live with it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Editor\u2019s Note<\/strong>:<\/p>\n\n\n\n Richard Fleming\u2019s noir vignette bends the classic ghost story into a study of urban alienation. To accompany this piece, we\u2019ve paired the text with Yoshiko Miyashita\u2019s public sculpture The Eye of Shinjuku<\/strong>, transforming the gumshoe\u2019s smoky office into a metaphor for the unblinking, indifferent gaze of the modern metropolis, where one can walk among the living and yet be entirely unseen.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I read the sign and climb a stair. The office door is smoky glass. Inside, a radio plays jazz. I go in. He points to a chair. He\u2019s shabby, but he don\u2019t look dumb. His voice is booze and cigarettes: a weary voice, full of regrets. A gumshoe, laid back, chewing gum. I tell him: \u201cYou\u2019re a Psychic Eye. I got a problem, something\u2019s changed. It\u2019s like the whole world\u2019s rearranged, gone crazy, but I don\u2019t know why. When joshing with my buddy, Pat, there was a mishap with a gun. The pistol was a loaded one. Things turned peculiar<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":5,"featured_media":4724,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"footnotes":"","_ppma_block_editor_authors":""},"categories":[46,13],"tags":[662,661,664,663],"ppma_author":[624,577],"class_list":["post-4723","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-trails","tag-noir","tag-psychic-eye","tag-shinjuku-eye","tag-urban-fantasy"],"aioseo_notices":[],"aioseo_head":"\n\t\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t\n\t\t