I have not yet heard from you. Bright orange maple leaves flirt with cold air as if restlessly desperate for a damp lover. Men and women fall in love make love leave love and will love mysteriously so long as rivers wash away residues of humanity. I am a comb without teeth. When I was a boy in Japan expecting to be a salaryman I imagined nothing like this.
Time is really strange.
Shrill Canton dialect of the Chinese couple upstairs and the sound of the shower of the Republican businessman next door have gone elsewhere. I might as well drink courageously brandy and cognac to shake this ridiculous obsession called self-consciousness. It is reasonably said that Japan is a fragile flower. But I surely do not like a flower-arranging wife devoted to children a boring boss to bow to and sleeping away my life on subways with empty men. In the mirror I find my face covered with bloody tears.