Nagusami / 32

(Tokyo, 2006)

I’d like a street-smart master, rather than the pious rural model—the sort of guru who might accost one at a late-night coin laundromat. I’d bring that guru beer instead of marigolds, food stamps instead of the pious envelope of cash.

I worry the first thing that guru'd do, if my master ever deigned to appear in Tokyo, is make me give up my special space on the train, the standing space in the nook just beside the door. On the train with the rush hour crowd, ass against the wall, that space makes it all much easier to bear.

I’ve become expert at darting to that space, un-tempted by the slim chance of a seat, expert at beating out any short woman or elderly person who might also covet that slightly protected space beside the door. In the middle of the train you’re jostled by people getting in or out; in the corner you can turn to stone. In my safe corner I hunker down and just endure--keep an eye out for unsettling city masters, the troublemakers who say there’s more to it than just keeping yourself protected and near the exit.