It’s 3:45am and my body is somewhere else looking forward to lunch. The gate is still closed.
They begin to rouse themselves around 5 and as the morning traffic picks up the cricket chirps of a whistle usher them into the street for their daily rounds.
Later, they will return and roost like the crow calling in the distance. This is where buses sleep while I cannot.
"I'm from Libya," he said. I don't know what to say. It's as if he'd told me he'd just come from his father's funeral.
The first specialty coffee shop in Ikebukuro and Junkudo (bookstore) resonate.
Editing is interpreting.
The Riddle of Steel.
The man stands motionless in a crush of white-shirted salarymen, as they swarm past him, toward the single escalator.
Rêve de centre commercial-piscine
Birthday walk home