Im raving. Coaxed out. Japanese girls playing my perceptual puppet strings. Sitting motionless, eyes chase after them. From one to another. Something comforting. But lonely. Disturbing.
Dont know, exactly, what power is at work here.
I sit. Another lonely gai-jin gaping from the corner. Sleeping?
Wake. Wake to the slow wailing and operatic screams. An old man, wrapped in cardboard, shivers. Skirted beauties pass him by. Without a glance.
But my eyes linger. He doesnt speak, but I hear his voice.
Detached. Lonely. Perfectly fulfilled.
These whispers can only be heard in solitude.