The Cat and The City

As he ran, a strange memory kept playing in his mind. A biology lesson from his high-school days. The teacher had told the class that if a man or woman were to jump on the spot, as long as they were in good shape, only their sexual organs would bounce. Any other form of bouncing on the human body indicated unwanted fat. Everything should be useful;

‘Hey! You two! What are you nattering about?’ Ryu, the Line Manager, ducked past Dhalsim and came to sit between us.

But on these work nights out, no one ever got a chance to talk or get to know one another. All we did was get wasted and sing karaoke. Then we had to listen to the bosses drone on about how great they were, and how things were a lot harder in the days when they first joined the company. How we all had it easy, yada yada yada. Last time I checked, t

She considered herself a Japanologist, rather than a Japanophile. To her, there was a big difference. Japanophiles were people who just loved Japan without asking questions. They were people who thought Japan could do no wrong, who lived in a fantasy world of anime and manga.

getting together with all the other OLs at lunch times to talk about shopping, or make up, or whatever it is that girls talk about. Don’t get me wrong, guys talk about inane stuff too – like baseball and kyabakura. I can’t stand that shit – people talking about things they think they should talk about, so as not to be socially awkward.

The conversation paused again as another train clattered past, right on time. ‘Maybe Tanimoto-san went back home to his family?’ said Taka, continuing their conversation. ‘People don’t just go home after this life,’ said Shimada. He raised his grubby palm. ‘This dirt . . . it doesn’t wash off. We’re less than human now, even to our families.’

Bob could dream if he wanted to, but that night he chose not to.*

‘“What a lovely cat you have,” said Gozaemon. “What? That old mog?” replied the old woman in surprise. “Yes. It’s a darling cat.” Gozaemon knelt down to pet the cat. It hissed at him, back arching. “Reminds me of my own, who sadly . . . no, it’s too painful to even talk about . . . My children loved that old cat so . . .” Gozaemon pretended to stif

I smile. These out-of-towners amaze me. No Tokyoite would talk this much about themselves on a first meeting.