(Tokyo, 2006)
The city is where we go to be cramped. Shoved out the train, the crowd charges down a corridor into an elevator and through the ticket gates. And out is never out but only out into--an alley with pachinko parlors on both sides, dodging strollers, women with high heels, bumped shoulders and dirty looks, staircase under construction, eating lunch at a tiny table as a line of people wait for you to finish and bolt the train arrives on the dot. Four minutes to the office, seven before the bell, this kind of worker, this kind of husband, this kind of son, success. Here is the list of what you have to do and here is the list (entirely different) of what you must achieve for your life to matter even a little.
One-hundred-and-seventy-one piles of sand and somebody says, but none of them are so tall. . .
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