life in tokyo

揚げ足-tripping on your own tongue

The coffee-colored little girl began her dance with little skating steps. She had on those rolling sneakers and with one little toe she’d slide forward. The woman beside her, all unaware, was speaking the ritual words of thanks and goodbye and exaggerated honor. The shopkeeper’s attendant bows reached a rhythm that fascinated the little girl-she was attracted to the conversation and tried to bow to copy the woman she was

writing exercise: It’s my belief that we’re all crazy now!

There’s no safety in the depths of his voice, although he’s saying things that ought to make me feel…secure. I’m just moving along beside him, hoping that we’ll get to someplace with more people. And maybe lights. At least he hasn’t tried to take my hand again. The street is quieter than I’ve ever heard it. Where is everybody? There’s a lot of weird purple cloud over by the playground.