I can think of at least a dozen nearby houses and other structures that have been demolished within the last few months.
Few buildings ever manage to command such remarkable presence, and many that do lose their edge as the rest of architecture catches up around them.
While it is entirely possible that, by the time we visit again, new buildings and businesses will occupy those spaces, it is also possible that they will remain empty for a long while.
Over time, stacks of these fragments string together and hang upon the backdrop from which they were extracted.
Not a fish out of water, but a fish temporarily in the wrong body of water. I’m a trout in a tide pool.
Many years later, I laid down and gazed up from the floor of the Gobi Desert, a place with a sky so dark that the Milky Way practically slaps you in the face. There’s no missing it.
I lost track of the cicadas in a span of weeks during which I was trying to put my head back together and in a general state of tunnel-vision.
When it rains, they emerge from the ground and hunt.
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?
It was just before Christmas and my friend and I were hanging out in Ikebukuro, an area on the north side of Tokyo. We had been wandering around aimlessly and were outside a convenience store when a man approached us.
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