It’s all so Japanese. Which makes sense, of course, but I still like it, and it still surprises me. I went to a mall, and had a lovely three sentence conversation with a skinny Japanese girl with a lot of style and little English. She had big, workman’s pants that came the tops of her ankles.
She worked at one of the stores. I said that I’d just arrived, and that my Japanese was bad. じょうずですね！, she said (of course). I should’ve asked for her name, and told her she had style. That’s what I’m here for, anyway. I’m here to talk to Japanese girls with a lovely smile and whole lot of style.
Visited Narita-San temple a few days ago. Took a long walk behind the big building through stretches of trails and tombs of stone and statues of buddha. The quiet was nice, and the dirt paths were far more spirited than the crowded temple. Walking far back, into the cemetery, I saw flowers and tea cups and all, resting on the stone hedges. There were a few cans of Asahi, and I liked that.
A morning run along Edogawa, close to home. Through reed lined dirt paths and concrete roads above baseball fields.
"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