… Pizza and laughter and stories of past and present lives — of douchebags and weird hair, pilots and ballers, cute friends and girl friends, and the crazy ways the world is so, so small.
Yes, maybe I
should could should move to New York.
Life advice in between mouthfuls of cheese and tomatoes and basil goodness.
It would have been better with a beer (or three), but my traumatized tummy had been on strike the past two days1 and I didn’t want to take a chance.
… Come to think of it, this was both my first and last meal in Tokyo.
And boy, was it amazing.
The pizza was pretty good, too.
I shall spare everyone the long, horrifying story of how my stomach decided to unleash hell in the middle of an 8-hour overnight bus ride from Osaka to Tokyo (serves me right for being so skeptical—plus, it’s much more entertaining to hear it in real life). Was it the beer? Gyudon? Beer and gyudon? Are they not buddies? Or was it the Universe punishing me for being cheap? Honestly, this is the last time I’m asking for any kind of adventure… I ought to wish for comfort and a cute travel buddy next time. Let’s just say I’ve now mastered the frantic gomenasaiiiii bow and have never been so thankful that the Japanese are a nice, quiet bunch and public shaming isn’t the norm because I just caused everyone to be 40 minutes (!!!) late. (Cue horror music.) At least I made the most of the pretty hostel I stayed at, despite passing out in the library, sick, waiting for check-in that wasn’t for another five hours. (I went on to sleep for the next day and a half — fail.) ↩
"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