To my left runs a long row of houses. To my right is a chain-link fence, woven and fringed with weeds. Beyond it, a profusion of railroad tracks.
A walk and a comedy podcast on the quiet back streets between the school and the station.
In the winter months, kerosene trucks drive slowly through neighborhoods in the evening, making their presence known with a repeating announcement played over a loudspeaker, accompanied by the tune of an old children’s song.
So why would I choose not only to board the train when I don’t really need to, but also remain in my seat for at least one full trip around the loop?
The shutters came down, and the customers stopped coming, but life continued inside.
Three small children play in a public park sandbox under a cedar tree. The smallest of them is digging a hole with a stick, eschewing the nearby yellow plastic shovel. Two women sit on an adjacent bench. One of them wears a large-brimmed hat.
They lurk in great piles behind convenience stores and in train station utility rooms. They are clustered in homes, offices, public toilets, parks, waiting rooms, and restaurants. They congregate in unpredictable numbers, multiplying when nobody’s looking, becoming over-numerous.
© 2022 David R Munson, All rights reserved
Proudly Made in Saitama, Japan
