I walk through Aoyama Cemetery about three times a week. It’s set up on a fine-grained grid, so there is an almost infinite number of variations on my diagonal path from corner to corner. Every time I think I’ve exhausted the possibilities and have found all I’m going to find there, I see something that I’m sure I’ve never seen before. Like this. Final resting place of Mr. or Ms. or The Family Koganemaru. It sounds like a Japanese name and it’s not in the Christian section of the graveyard, but it sure doesn’t look like your standard monolithic Japanese o-haka. There are a few small Buddhas and Jizo and even a stately Kannon keeping watch on other stones, but these gold-glazed cherubs look like they took a wrong turn and landed somewhere unfamiliar. Gaudy little aliens.
"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