“Watanabe-sensei! Watanabe-sensei! Over here!” she projects across the highway in the direction of a narrow blob of khaki and rust, a little fuzzy on top.
I look downwards at nothing of note, look up again. Watanabe-sensei’s big, round welcoming face is upon me. Two long, grey, wisps of hair, crimped by age, sway in sync like backup singers.
"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