my quiet birthday adventures
Today I wore all black and boots and hand knitted fingerless gloves
and listened to the Strokes. I boldly sat down at a bar and got alcohol shoved down my nostrils by a scantily clad platinum blonde Japanese male. I walked around streets of tiny vendors and shops and smoked camel lights. I found a second hand clothing shop, which is pretty much the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard of, ever. I’ve heard rumors that the second hand shops in Japan are more expensive than the new clothing shops, but this is untrue. I bought two AMAZING pairs of baggy jeans, which I cuffed and am now wearing slouchily, rocking around the clock. I doodled and wrote in the new notebook I received as a birthday gift, the one with the reservoir dogs stencil on the front.
I ate onigiri and curry with rice. I went into a record shop named ‘The Poorhouse’ that sells Greek and Belgian rock music, as well as British progressive rock from the 1970’s. I got three records for sen yen (ten dollars). One by Dylan and one by Clapton and one by a band called “Pearl Harbor and the Explosions”.
But I did not get books. And I did not get a belt.
I saw a hilariously comical woman on the train home. She was round and bumbling and mousy. She was standing up, and the train kept making her lurch precariously. So she started taking very small, cautious steps backwards, right into the feet of the man sitting behind her. When her careful little foot encountered his shiny black shoe, she gave a mighty leap of surprise, and whipped around lickety-split to apologize profusely. Only, when she whipped around, her purse whipped around too, right into the face of the schoolgirl standing next to her.
I burst out laughing. Silently, because you’re not allowed to make any noise at all on the trains. Then I staggered home from the station under my purchases.
Bieris, I got your photographs and they are beautiful! I am putting at least two of them in my sketchbook. Thank you, darling, it was a lovely birthday present to get, although you didn’t mean them as such.
All in all it was a very nice way to spend the anniversary of my seventeenth year on this earth.
and listened to the Strokes. I boldly sat down at a bar and got alcohol shoved down my nostrils by a scantily clad platinum blonde Japanese male. I walked around streets of tiny vendors and shops and smoked camel lights. I found a second hand clothing shop, which is pretty much the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard of, ever. I’ve heard rumors that the second hand shops in Japan are more expensive than the new clothing shops, but this is untrue. I bought two AMAZING pairs of baggy jeans, which I cuffed and am now wearing slouchily, rocking around the clock. I doodled and wrote in the new notebook I received as a birthday gift, the one with the reservoir dogs stencil on the front.
I ate onigiri and curry with rice. I went into a record shop named ‘The Poorhouse’ that sells Greek and Belgian rock music, as well as British progressive rock from the 1970’s. I got three records for sen yen (ten dollars). One by Dylan and one by Clapton and one by a band called “Pearl Harbor and the Explosions”.
But I did not get books. And I did not get a belt.
I saw a hilariously comical woman on the train home. She was round and bumbling and mousy. She was standing up, and the train kept making her lurch precariously. So she started taking very small, cautious steps backwards, right into the feet of the man sitting behind her. When her careful little foot encountered his shiny black shoe, she gave a mighty leap of surprise, and whipped around lickety-split to apologize profusely. Only, when she whipped around, her purse whipped around too, right into the face of the schoolgirl standing next to her.
I burst out laughing. Silently, because you’re not allowed to make any noise at all on the trains. Then I staggered home from the station under my purchases.
Bieris, I got your photographs and they are beautiful! I am putting at least two of them in my sketchbook. Thank you, darling, it was a lovely birthday present to get, although you didn’t mean them as such.
All in all it was a very nice way to spend the anniversary of my seventeenth year on this earth.