The moon hangs over the shadow that is Fuji on the horizon, a half crescent tipped on its side like an open hand or a waiting cup. I go to get a pack of cigarettes because the luxury and nostalgia of cheap Japanese wine with real American cheese is simply incomplete without a cigarette. なつかしい. On the way, I wonder how it is I've adapted so easily
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"I have no anonymity here, only the pseudonymity which comes with being a cipher for The American. My movements trace a figure of the average foreigner in the imaginations of every Japanese person I happen even to walk by."
Nicely put!
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